


Conjunction

by PestoMonkey



Category: Dragon Age, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-08 08:17:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 171,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PestoMonkey/pseuds/PestoMonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Worlds collide as Solona Amell discovers she has a higher purpose after killing the Archdemon. Crossover that maintains the three distinct worlds of DA:O/II, Witcher, and a mystery realm to be revealed later. Warning: plays fast and loose with canon to make the worlds mesh better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End

The massive, stinking corpse of the Archdemon lay at Solona Amell's feet, its narrow-pupiled eyes blank and staring. She stared back in incomprehension. Was it over? Had they actually killed it, and _survived_? Had Morrigan's ritual actually  _worked_?

Alistair Theirin, Ferelden's newest king, stood blood-soaked and gasping for breath beside her on the top of Fort Drakon, gazing down at the dragon's dead eyes. His short blond hair was darkened by a mixture of sweat and blood and his face was streaked with the grimey remnants of the darkspawn he had slain during the fight. But as exhausted as he appeared, his eyes were bright with elation at their victory.

He let his sword and shield clatter to the ground. He knelt by the creature's head and wedged a dagger in its bloody jaw, grunted, and then stood up triumphantly with one of its large teeth grasped in his hand.

"A trophy!" he proclaimed, grinning at her widely. Then, laughing out loud, he grabbed her in a tight embrace and kissed her soundly on the mouth.

"We did it! Oh, Maker! Solona, we won!"

She smiled back at him and nodded. In a near whisper she replied, "Yes... I suppose we did."

She looked around to find Morrigan, but the witch was nowhere to be seen. There were nothing but corpses strewn around her, with far too few survivors, some standing in dazed wonder that it was over while others were bending to see to their injured and fallen comrades.

 _Where is she?_  Solona thought. She had more questions about the ritual the witch had performed in Redcliffe castle two nights prior, with Alistair's help. She had known agreeing to it was a huge risk, but if the details she had learned over the years about the Old Gods were true, it was a chance they had to take. And it had meant neither she nor Alistair would have to sacrifice their lives in order to see the end of the Archdemon.

 _If Morrigan was right about the Old Gods, we could end the Blights forever!_  She had to find her friend to be sure. If nothing else, she needed to know she hadn't pushed her lover into another woman's bed for no good reason. Alistair had adamantly refused to participate in the ritual at first - he despised Morrigan, she knew, which had made it all the harder for her. But she had finally convinced him to go through with it. He seemed to have forgiven her, at least, which was some small consolation.

She looked at Alistair again, her heart beginning to fill with despair. He was king now - or he would be officially following his coronation. What kind of place would she have in his life after today? What kind of place  _could_  she have? She was a mage. And in spite of the fact that she had urged him to accept his birthright... in spite of the fact that she had gathered the armies that had enabled them to break through the darkspawn horde... she would always be a mage. She could never be his queen, and didn't think she would want to fill that role anyway.

She refused to be relegated to "honored guest of the king," which was really only a more diplomatic way of calling her his mistress. She wouldn't hang around court fawning after him like an eager Mabari pup for the rest of her life. Not if there was more she could do to end the Blights that had plagued their world for centuries.

Dammit, where  _was_  Morrigan?

Glancing down at the massive dragon corpse, she started feeling light-headed. The adrenaline rush of the fight was subsiding and her body was finally making its hurts known to her. There was an excruciating searing across her chest that seemed to bore into her heart.

She turned to look at Alistair, but there were six of him, and she was confused by the look of panic in the dozen eyes looking back at her.

"Sol! You're hurt! Oh Maker!" she heard him exclaim, and all six Alistairs rushed to catch her as she felt her knees give out and the world faded away.

* * *

_She was with Alistair in the tent they had shared for so long on their journey, until she had turned him into a King. They were making love._

_It was slow and languorous at first; he was whispering in her ear how he loved her and would be with her always. His lovemaking became more urgent as he reached his peak. Then as he climaxed he began to howl inhumanly in ecstasy._

_She felt him pull away and opened her eyes to see him. She beheld yellow slitted eyes in a wolf's face regarding her from where her lover had been._

_The wolf's gaze held hers for a moment, and then his form began to grow and sleeken, soft white fur replaced by shiny white scales as the wolf became a high dragon. The dragon stretched its leathery wings and burst through the tent, soaring into the sky and trumpeting in exaltation as it ascended._

* * *

She awoke among soft pillows and silken bedsheets, motes of dust floating in late afternoon sunbeams that streamed through a nearby window. She stared groggily out the window for a few moments, still half in the dream. She thought the dreams would stop after the Archdemon was dead, but this last dream hadn't been like the nightmares she'd had since her Joining. It was like other dreams she'd been having as long as she could remember. Strange dreams about dragons that she had recently begun to believe were the Old Gods calling to her.

"You're awake, oh thank the Maker, you're okay," a rough voice spoke from nearby.

She turned to see Alistair's haggard face looking back at her with palpable relief showing in his eyes. He moved quickly from the chair he was in and sat beside her on the bed reaching up to gently caress her cheek.

"I was so afraid you would die. After all the trouble we went through to..." he trailed off then, glancing across the room where Wynne sat quietly reading in an overstuffed chair by the fireplace.

Solona followed his gaze and understood his hesitance to speak further about "all the trouble," meaning the ritual Morrigan had convinced them to assist her with. The ritual was something it would be unwise to speak of in mixed company. It had been blood magic, which was forbidden. Not to mention they had probably assisted Morrigan in impregnating herself with the soul of an Old God, and if that detail became common knowledge they were as good as dead.

But she was almost certain that Morrigan's ritual was a way to remove the darkspawn corruption from the soul of the Old God without killing it, and if there was a way to undo the darkspawn taint on a  _god_ , there must be a way to prevent it from happening in the first place.

"Alistair," she finally spoke, her voice dry and raspy. She coughed softly and winced as pain shot through her chest. She opened her eyes again to see Wynne bending towards the bed, holding a cup out to her.

"Here, drink this dear. You must be very thirsty."

Smiling weakly in gratitude, she took the cup and sipped, then sighed in relief as the wetness seeped down her parched throat.

"What happened?" she finally asked when she could speak again.

"You were injured... in the fight. I think it must have been the Archdemon from the size of the wound, too," Alistair explained, glancing briefly at her chest in evident wonder that she had survived.

She could feel the itching burn there of the partially healed wound and touched it gingerly.

"Ouch," she said, wincing.

Alistair said earnestly, "I was so scared you would die, Sol, after everything. I'm so happy you're going to be okay now."

He looked so wrecked it nearly broke her heart.

There was a sharp knock on the door and Wynne stepped over to open it to admit a steward with an urgent message for the King. Alistair's expression transformed before her eyes into something of grim determination as he told the man to wait. Something was very different about him now. Of course it should be - he was King now. But the quickness with which he had changed his bearing was new. He was made for this, she could tell. Anyone who wasn't would not have adapted so quickly. She wondered again what place she could possibly have here that would have any meaning to her. She couldn't just exist here for the sake of being near him, no matter the level of affection they had for each other.

Just then, a large, black Mabari hound padded over and hopped up onto the bed to greet his recently revived master with a sloppy lick across her face.

Solona laughed weakly, "Lusa! It's good to see you, too," she said, and scratched the dog's head affectionately. The big dog lay down next to her, resting his massive head in her lap.

"Now let me check your wound," Wynne said, shooting a pointed glance at Alistair, who looked back at her blankly.

"Alistair, I think she's trying to tell you to leave... I have to preserve my modesty you know," she said with a smirk as she attempted to leverage herself into a more upright position in the bed.

Understanding dawned on him finally.

"Oh! I'll … uh... I'll just be down the hall. I need to do some…things..." he trailed off as he stepped through the door after the steward and closed it behind him, face flushed.

Solona laughed, and then winced. "Ow."

"It was his sense of modesty I was hoping to preserve, anyway," Wynne said, matter-of-factly. "I don't think you have one to preserve."

She made no argument. "He's very Kingly now, isn't he?" she said, changing the subject. "It seems to suit him in a strange way."

"He is the son of King Maric," Wynne pointed out with a shrug as though that should explain everything. "There's no doubt he inherited some of the necessary traits from his father, but I think most of it he owes to you. I think your influence taught him more about leading than anything else could have."

Solona sighed and said, "It's just comforting to know that he's taking to it so easily. I was a little worried I had made the wrong decision, forcing him to accept the crown."

She'd been fiddling with the bandages across her chest when Wynne asked, "Do you want me to give you another round of healing, or do you feel strong enough to try yourself?"

Solona looked down at her chest and peeked beneath the bandages. The wound still stung, but she could tell it was at least half healed. She knew the older woman had done her best.

"I think I can handle it from here, if I can get a lyrium potion first."

"Here you go," Wynne said, handing her a small vial of opalescent blue liquid and sitting on the edge of the bed. "You always were the strongest of my students, even though you joined the Circle so late," Wynne said, with a mixture of pride and what sounded like regret in her voice. "You've far outpaced even me with your skill, you know."

"It's the application that matters. You should know that by now," Solona replied, tossing back the lyrium potion in one swallow. "Keeping mages locked up in a tower serves no one, least of all the mages." She gestured broadly in emphasis, and then winced at the motion. With smaller gestures she continued, "They need to be out there actually doing good with what they know for their knowledge to really be effective, not to mention it would help keep them sane. Practical application of magic strengthens the will. That's what Mal Hawke taught my cousins and me."

She continued quietly, her tone tinged with bitterness, "Sitting there stagnating in a stuffy tower at the mercy of the Templars just promotes... bad things. The entire concept is totally backwards."

Her eyes had a distant, haunted look.

"Well, you know what I think, anyway," Solona said. "We've had this conversation before."

Solona knew that Wynne was aware of some of her history prior to her joining the Circle, but she had never pried for details. She doubted the other woman knew the extent of what went on behind closed doors inside the Circle, however.

Wynne looked at her with concern. "Bad things? I know you were only there a few years, but surely your time at the tower had some good moments?"

Solona sat up to let Wynne unwrap her bandages and let out a sigh.

"I never really fit in there. I did find a friend or two, but it's difficult to relate to someone who has been cloistered their entire life. The mages at the circle have a very limited perspective of the world. And the templars have a very limited perspective of mages." She spoke the last few words sharply.

"I was an outsider. It was like everyone perceived me as a threat. Few of the other mages would associate with me, and the templars looked at me as though I were little more than an abomination. Like the outside world had already corrupted me somehow, and that it might be catching." And some of them had severely messed up ideas about how to deal with it, she thought, but preferred to push those memories from her mind.

The other woman, sensing the deterioration of her mood, thankfully changed the subject. "Well, your … uncle, was it? Judging from your skill when you joined us, he was an excellent teacher."

"Yeah," Solona said, smiling faintly at the recollection. "Uncle Mal definitely had strong opinions on magic."

She became lost to memory for several moments, wistfully recalling the years she had spent with the Hawkes. They had been the only family she had known for most of her life, since her father - an elven mage in Kirkwall - had spirited her away from the clutches of Kirkwall's Circle of Magi. She still missed the Hawkes sorely and wondered how her aunt and cousins had fared during the Blight.

"Solona, are you alright?" she heard Wynne ask softly. She finished unwrapping the bandages and stood to prepare fresh ones.

"What? Oh.. yes," Solona replied, snapping out of her reverie. "I was just thinking about the Hawkes. I hope they're okay."

"You lived with them in Lothering for a time, didn't you. Do you know if they made it out okay?"

"I lived with them most of my life," she said. "But if I know Garrett, they're probably safe in Kirkwall now. At least I know they'd left Lothering before the darkspawn horde ran it into the ground. They were gone by the time I got there after Ostagar, and Kirkwall is the first place he'd take them."

"Well, that is fortunate," Wynne said. Then the older woman ventured, "Are your parents still in Kirkwall? Will they be able to help them, do you think?"

"I don't know, really. Well, that's not true. I know my mother is dead - she killed herself after I was sent away. My father..." she hesitated, looking down at the blanket and teasing at a loose thread with her fingers. "My father was an elf mage. All I know about him really is that his name is Orsino and that he's the only reason I wasn't stuck in the Kirkwall Gallows my entire life. I don't know where he is now or even if he's still alive."

She glanced up at Wynne's sudden stillness and was startled at the expression of surprise she found on the woman's face.

"Orsino is your father?" Wynne asked in disbelief.

"As far as I know, yes. I don't know why the Hawkes would have lied to me about that, of all things. Why?" she replied, confused.

Wynne made an effort to regain her composure. "Orsino... Well, I've never met the man in person, but I know he and Irving exchange letters frequently." She paused, then continued, "Solona... Orsino is the First Enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle."

All she said was, "Oh," with a faint expression of surprise, and fell silent.

Wynne avoided pushing further. The conversation lulled for several moments as Wynne busied herself preparing the clean bandages.

Solona rested gingerly back on her pillow and looked down at her exposed chest. There was a long angry gash that ran diagonally across her chest from her collarbone to her sternum, ending just over her heart. She was a mess. She laid her hands across the wound and closed her eyes, letting her healing magic flow through her. She gradually felt the wound close and the stinging itch subside. When she was finally done, she looked up to see Wynne putting away the bandages she had just pulled out.

"Well, the elf blood explains why your magic is so strong, especially considering whose blood you have." Wynne commented, attempting to continue the conversation. "Orsino is an exceptionally gifted mage, by all accounts."

"Blood," Solona said in quiet contemplation as she covered her bare chest with her shift. "Yes, blood does seem to affect so many things so profoundly, doesn't it?"

Wynne looked back at her, worried, "I know that expression. I hope you aren't thinking of doing something dangerous. The Archdemon is dead now, thanks to you. You need to take some time to rest and recover."

"You're right. This is me resting and recovering," she said, teasing the other woman, and deliberately resting back on her pillows.

As Wynne was packing up her healing gear Solona abruptly asked, "Have you seen Morrigan?"

"Not since the three of you went into the tower," Wynne replied. "Well, the four of you I guess," she amended, looking at Lusa, who made a nondescript doggy noise back at her and then proceeded to start licking himself. "I didn't see her at the top when we got there, either, nor any sign of her," Wynne said, with a dubious look at the dog.

"That's strange," Solona said, even though she wasn't really surprised.

"Lusa," she directed at the dog who paused his activity to look up at her attentively. "Did Morrigan make it out of the tower alive at least?"

The dog cocked his head while he listened to her speak, then woofed softly in the affirmative. Then he hopped down from the bed and trotted to the window, sniffing the evening air. He sat by the window for a moment, and discerning nothing of value from the expedition came back and settled on the floor beside the bed with his head on his paws.

So Morrigan must be out there somewhere. Solona hoped she was okay. The two women had become close over the past year, discovering a kinship with each other that Solona had failed to find with other women her own age, particularly other mages. She had a hard time relating to the way many Fereldans seemed to cling to Chantry ideals, never having believed in them herself. It had surprised her that she and Alistair had become so close, considering his own background with the Chantry and his templar training. He had disarmed her with his self effacing wit and charm, and had shown her a tenderness that had been worlds apart from the treatment she had received at the hands of the templars that guarded the Ferelden Circle. She preferred to keep those earlier memories locked away. She was never returning to the Circle if she could help it.

When the older woman left, Solona sat brooding into the growing dusk. They had managed to defeat one Archdemon, true. But there was still the potential for another one to surface, even if it took hundreds of years to occur. If her research at the Circle had revealed anything it was that somehow there was a way to control the rise of the Archdemon, or even to stop it, and she believed Morrigan's ritual was further evidence of the possibility. She needed more information.

She thought of her dreams, then. Not the twisted nightmares she'd had since her Joining that signaled the Archdemon's progress, but the odd dreams she'd had since her childhood. Those dreams hadn't been so frightening, but were so similar to the tainted dreams that it caused her to wonder about their nature. There was the same sense of something calling to her, urging her into action, but not in a menacing overpowering way. They had more of a gentle urgency to them.

It had been at the Circle during their studies of the Old Gods that she began to suspect her dreams were related to those Old Gods, though she wasn't sure what their significance was. But the latest dream had left her with a particularly strong sense of urgency, and the wolf's sudden appearance had surprised and confused her. Were the Old Gods trying to tell her something? She wished Morrigan were here to talk to about it. She wondered again what had become of the witch after the battle.

There was the lingering issue of Alistair to deal with, as well. Her heart wrenched with sadness at the prospect of the conversation she knew she would have to have with him. The Archdemon was dead, and her old dreams had resumed calling her, urging her onward, though she knew not where. She just knew she needed to follow their call, wherever it led her.

Sensing something of her dark mood Lusa climbed back up on the bed and rested his large head on her lap again. Stroking him absently, she lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes. It would be better to rest for now. She could figure out what to do in the morning.


	2. The Grimoire

There was a fluttering sound in the darkness outside her window that caused her to awaken with a start. Lusa lifted his head and looked towards the window, sniffing the air. He barked softly.

A moment later a large owl landed on the windowsill and sat looking into the room with huge yellow eyes, head swiveling left and right as it surveyed the area. Solona's guard was up as the air began to shimmer around the bird. The dog remained calm and alert, but uncertain what to expect Solona began gathering power for a spell. She let it subside when she saw a familiar form begin to take shape in the shimmering air where the bird had been.

"Morrigan!" she exclaimed when she recognized the figure as it finally stood solid and real in front of her. She quickly reached for a lantern and lit it, turning the flame up higher to illuminate the dark room.

"Yes. 'Tis I," the witch replied, with an obvious hint of irritation in her voice. "I thought I had finally made it away from this place once and for all, but was compelled to turn back to deal with unfinished business."

"Away from Ferelden? But why? Where would you go?" she asked.

"Away from Ferelden. Away from this world. But Mother," she said the word with no little amount of exasperation in her voice, "Mother found me and scolded me soundly."

Resting one hand protectively over her abdomen, Morrigan said, "At least she couldn't take this treasure from me and crush it to pieces like a silly jeweled trinket."

With a sigh she continued, "It seems we're both destined to be pawns in her little game for a bit longer." She strolled to the edge of the bed, then sat, sliding a pack off her shoulders to the ground in front of her and rummaging in it. She brought out a large leather-bound tome and handed it to Solona.

"This is for you."

Solona took the book, perplexed.

"Flemeth's grimoire? Why are you giving it to me?"

"It seems your destiny is inscribed among its pages," Morrigan said, gesturing vaguely. Then she turned and gave Solona a frank, appraising look.

"I admit even after all the heroics of the past year, I have grossly underestimated your significance. I read that book twice, cover to cover, yet never made the connection."

Solona looked at the grimoire suspiciously. She had a feeling she knew what she would find inside but turned her head to face the other woman again with a questioning look.

"Just read the book. The important passages are marked." Morrigan gestured again towards the grimoire, then moved up and settled herself back against the pillows next to her friend.

Solona shifted closer to the light of the lantern and opened the book to one of the marked pages. She read for a moment, turned a page and read some more. The text she read was a revelation. Everything she had begun to believe about her connection to the Old Gods was confirmed in the words on these pages. She looked up at Morrigan, her eyes wide in wonder.

Words came out in a rush.

"Is this true? Morrigan, if this is true, this isn't some little game your mother is playing! If we don't do something soon... the fate of the entire world is in jeopardy. And not just one world, by the sound of things."

Morrigan nodded and began to explain. "The fates of three worlds lie in the balance. Mother has tasked me with ascertaining the state of one of them, and taking this treasure with me, far away from darkspawn influence," she gestured towards her midsection.

"You are to travel to the second world and find these 'Witchers' so you can complete the ritual to protect the remaining Old Gods. The darkspawn will not be able to reach you there, but you will still have your connection to the Old Gods. They slumber between worlds, in the Fade, connected to all three but existing in none. They need to be protected from the darkspawn taint and the only way to do that is to lure their souls from the Fade into the other world without awakening them. If they awaken within the Fade the taint can easily overcome them and turn them into archdemons. And if what Mother says is true, if that happens the last two Old Gods will likely be tainted at the same time and awaken together. There wouldn't just be another blight to contend with. Awakening them would trigger a cataclysm that none of the three worlds could withstand."

She paused for a few moments, thoughtful, as Solona continued to read.

Morrigan asked, tentative, "Why did you never tell me of your connection to them?"

Solona looked up at her, holding her gaze for a moment before answering, "I guess I never really got the chance. After our talk before your ritual... there was just so much information for me to process. I thought we could talk more afterwards, if everything... worked out."

"Is it true, then? They speak to you?" Morrigan asked, with a tinge of jealousy in her voice.

"I... suppose they do. In dreams mostly, but I feel their influence when I'm awake. It's like... well, you wouldn't understand it, but it's similar to the connection the Archdemon has with Grey Wardens through the taint. And I suppose the Archdemon used to be one of them anyway."

Thoughtful, Morrigan looked down at her abdomen and asked quietly, "Can you sense him now?"

She looked at Morrigan's belly, then reached out her hand slowly, her eyes querying Morrigan's for permission. At Morrigan's slight nod, she laid her hand over the other woman's womb and closed her eyes. With her healer's ability she could sense the life forming under her hand. It was still the tiniest pulse, but strong and determined nonetheless. Then suddenly her mind was filled with a deep, ethereal thrumm. The sound, familiar to her somehow, vibrated through her entire being for a second and then gradually settled into her mind. As it settled, she could discern a single sentiment: Thank You.

"Yes. He is there," she said, meeting Morrigan's eyes again, her own eyes filled with wonder. "You did a good thing, you know. Keep him safe."

Morrigan was unable to conceal the gratitude in her expression, a small smile lighting up her face. Solona didn't think she'd ever seen the other woman look happy before. She'd always heard that pregnant women tended to glow, but just thought it was a figure of speech, but now she knew otherwise. She smiled back, unable to help herself.

Morrigan looked at her with a determined expression. "I want to see the dragon mark."

"See the what?" Solona asked.

Morrigan grabbed the grimoire and flipped through it quickly, landing on a marked page near the front of the book. She laid the open book back on Solona's lap and pointed at a passage. Solona read it, her look of concentration quickly transforming into surprise.

"How... this... I don't... " she stuttered.

"You have it, don't you?" Morrigan asked, urgently. "Show it to me."

Solona nodded, her surprise still evident on her face, and handed the book back to Morrigan. She shifted slightly onto one side away from the other woman and pushed the bedcovers down to mid-thigh, then lifted her shift up, exposing her side and the large birthmark in the shape of a dragon that that adorned the rear portion of her hip, just above one buttock.

There was a pause as Morrigan inspected Solona's backside. "It's bigger than I expected," she said.

"Ha ha," Solona retorted, shifting back onto her pillows and glaring at the other woman as she covered herself up.

Morrigan smirked at her. "I meant the birthmark, silly. I'm sure your behind is the perfect size for anyone who cares about such things." Then she said, "Speaking of people who care about your assets..."

Solona let out a small sigh. "Alistair, you mean... I'm going to have to have a long talk with him soon... tomorrow after the coronation, I guess."

She wasn't relishing the idea in the slightest. She had known for some time that he was growing too attached to her. She had developed quite an attachment to him, as well, but some part of her had still insisted on keeping her emotional distance. She was relieved now that she had done so. It wouldn't do to fall in love and then have to turn around and leave. It still wasn't going to be easy to be apart from him after having his sturdy, comforting form to fall asleep beside every night for so long.

Morrigan said, "Being marked for glory has its disadvantages." Adding a slight chanty note to her words, she continued, "You'll have to leave the arms of your true love to pursue your higher calling."

Solona elbowed her friend in exasperation. "Being a mage in Ferelden has its disadvantages," she retorted. "But you're right anyway. I wish things could be different, but I think it's for the best if I'm out of his way. There's no room for a mage mistress in the king's court, and it's not like I'm going to bear him any heirs anyway," she said the last with a slight hint of bitterness, and couldn't help but glance at Morrigan's abdomen. Then a thought occurred to her and she eyed the other woman suspiciously. "You're not thinking of..."

Morrigan interrupted her, an expression of genuine surprise on her face. "No! Absolutely not!" she insisted. "His being a king had nothing to do with why I chose him for the ritual. It could have just as easily been Riordan as far as I was concerned, but … well... I got the distinct impression that Riordan would have preferred Zevran's company over mine. So Alistair was the only option. And, well, if you liked him, and he seemed to make you happy, then I... I just hoped it would make it pleasant at least. It isn't like there were many Grey Wardens to choose from."

Realizing that they were delving into potentially uncomfortable territory, Morrigan fell silent.

Solona, curious as always, finally broke the silence, "Was he... was it pleasant for you, then?" she asked. She knew she had been Alistair's first, so in spite of the residual jealousy she felt, she still felt she had something invested in the question. Her relationship to both parties made it particularly important.

Morrigan looked back at her, "Ahh... well. Wouldn't you like to know?" She smiled suggestively.

Solona said, determined, "Yes, actually. I'm curious. Are you going to tell me or not?"

Morrigan sighed and shook her head very slightly, "He was... tolerant at best. He evidently enjoyed it - it's not that difficult to tell with men. But he clearly didn't have his heart in it. Not that I blame him, considering our relationship. He is a competent lover, but the entire time he looked like he was trying to pretend he was someplace else. He cried out your name at the end." She paused, a moment, then said, "He isn't going to take your news well. I don't envy you the task of breaking it to him."

Solona felt a tightness in her chest that had nothing to do with the wound she had just healed. She looked down at her hands for a moment, then said quietly, "I do care for him him, greatly. But I would be lying to myself if I thought that he and I were in any way meant to be together. I do believe some things are meant to be. This book is evidence of that." She laid one hand on the grimoire and continued with more resolve, "And I think Alistair and I were meant to be together for a short time, but I know deep down that my place is not here with him. And if these… prophecies… are true, my place isn't even in Thedas."

Morrigan said, "He will move on, but I don't recommend telling him any of the details of why you need to go. I don't think he would understand, being raised in the Chantry as he was."

Solona nodded, "I'll only tell him as much as necessary. It would probably be best to keep the conversation short, anyway." Although she wasn't sure if that would make it any easier. She paused, then continued, "So, how do we get to these other worlds, exactly? Do you have some ritual up your sleeve that will transport us there?"

"In a manner of speaking," Morrigan replied. "I have discovered the existence of an uncorrupted Eluvian in the Dragonbone Wastes near Amaranthine. We will travel there, and perform rituals to attune it to the locations we wish to access. We will need to leave soon. 'Tis a long journey and we have little time to waste. I will meet you outside Denerim in two days' time. Hopefully that will be ample time for you to complete your business here and gather supplies."

She stood then and reached for her pack, the air already beginning to shimmer around her as she began to transform again. A moment later she was gone, her feathered form flying off into the night sky.


	3. The Coronation

Solona gave up on sleep for the rest of the evening, instead poring over the grimoire in exhaustive detail, Lusa keeping her company and serving as a bookrest with his head in her lap. Beyond what Morrigan had already told her, she learned that there were indeed two of the Old Gods remaining in the Fade. There had been seven original Old Gods, but so far five had been corrupted in the five blights. The fifth, and the most recent Archdemon, Urthemiel, had been saved by Morrigan's ritual. One of the remaining two Old Gods was Lusacan, the Dragon of Night, who she had named her Mabari after. The other was Razikale, the Dragon of Mystery. Somehow, she needed to protect them and keep them from the darkspawn taint to prevent any further blights.

The Grimoire also told her how to do that, although the instructions were cryptic. She knew she had to summon the Old Gods' souls to the other world she would travel to, through a ritual she would perform there. There were several prophecies scattered throughout the text that she would need to decipher in order to understand the true path. Flemeth had been thorough, but still hadn't made things easy, unfortunately. There were just too many riddles to solve. If she ever saw the woman again she would strangle her for not making this easier to figure out. The prophecies spoke of the union of dragon and wolf, which was weird by itself. And of the dragon consuming the wolf's blood as part of the fulfillment of the prophecy, but she thought the "blood" was a figurative term. She hoped so anyway. And her family name was prevalent in the last prophecy, but it sounded more like a location to her than a personal identifier. It spoke of the final destination being "where highest Amell touches the sky" but didn't specify where that was. What she wanted to understand most of all was the significance of the white wolf. She saw the reference several times in the text, so it was clearly significant. She had just seen him in one of her dreams of the Old Gods. She only hoped it would all make more sense once she passed through to the other world and found this White Wolf.

Dawn was breaking finally and she realized that she had little time. Today was Alistair's coronation. She also planned to have her talk with Alistair afterwards, which she wasn't looking forward to. She eased out of bed, gingerly testing her range of motion in her upper body. She was still sore from the fight, but her wound was healed. She stepped out the door to find a maid and request a bath, then began taking inventory and repacking her things as she made a mental list of supplies she would need for her journey.

When she was preparing to dress, one of the maids came in carrying what appeared to be a pile of silk fabric. When it was hanging in front of her she cringed slightly. If Alistair thought she was wearing _that_ monstrosity, he was sorely mistaken. She had no intention of parading in front of everyone in a fancy dress. Instead, she donned the mage's robe she'd had custom made using dragon scales they'd acquired. The tailor had been baffled by her request at first, but had agreed to craft the garments for her. The result had been a very attractive and form-fitting set of armor consisting of a deep v-necked top and an ankle-length flared skirt that was split up the thighs for mobility. She wore matching leather leggings underneath. It was all crafted from dragon hide and sequined in an intricate pattern with dragonscales. The dragonhide gloves, pauldrons, and boots that went with it included silverite guards on top of the supple dragonskin, even down to guards on each finger. It was all in a uniform black and had a reddish glow in the light, except for the guards, which were silver. Fortunately she hadn't been wearing them during the final battle, believing she needed stronger armor to face the Archdemon. Her other set of dragonscale armor had been destroyed.

When she finished dressing she regarded herself for several moments in the mirror. I'm still alive, and whole, after all this. She thought. She wondered if that in itself was a sign. She contemplated the scar from the wound the Archdemon had given her that was just barely visible where it curved over the top of her breast. She touched the raised pink flesh softly, deciding that she liked having a reminder of the ordeal, and didn't mind if others could see it, either.

A few hours later she was in the great hall watching Alistair as the Grand Cleric crowned him King of Ferelden, and wondering how the hell she was going to tell him she was leaving. Shortly afterwards, he stood in front of the large crowd and gave a short speech. She thought it would be about his goals as king, but he surprised her when he focused his eyes on hers and began to speak.

"My friends, we are gathered to celebrate those responsible for our victory. Of those who stood against the darkspawn siege of Denerim there is one in particular who deserves commendation. The one who led the charge against the Archdemon, and killed it, remains with us still. An inspiration to all she saved that day." He smiled at her warmly as she took the cue and made her way onto the dais beside him and turned to face the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present the Hero of Ferelden. The first Grey Warden to defeat the blight since Garahel, four centuries ago. Grey Warden," she thought she saw him smirk at the title, "it is hard to imagine how you could have aided Ferelden more. I think it only appropriate that I return the favor. Is there any boon that you might request of Ferelden's king?"

She was at a loss for words at first, then recovered herself and responded, "My liege, I thank you. If you please, there is one thing I would wish above all others. It is for the Circle of Magi to have autonomy from the Chantry."

There were a few gasps and exclamations of outrage at the idea coming from the crowd. Alistair ignored them and said, "I will see that it is done." He went on to grant the now defunct Howe's arling in Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens and then concluded the formalities indicating that the festivities should begin. Once they were no longer the center of attention, he drew Solona off to a semi-private alcove. His excitement clearly evident, he said, "So, we made it! I'm impressed, aren't you? I was so scared that I would lose you. But here you are, and here I am. Not bad, right?"

She couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. He'd always managed to have the kind of bright attitude that was infectious. Not waiting for her to respond, he continued, "I bet this has something to do with that night, with Morrigan. Why you're still here, I mean. I'm not that dumb. The rest of the grey wardens haven't arrived yet from Orlais, but they've already sent questions."

She was slightly alarmed at this news. In a cautious tone she asked, "What questions?"

"About how you survived. What should I tell them?"

She rubbed at her brow, thinking. This could get complicated, but it wouldn't matter in a few days when she and Morrigan both disappeared from the face of Thedas. "Tell them they were wrong," she said, shrugging.

He laughed, "Yes, all you need is a maleficar willing to have your demon baby, who knew?" He shook his head, "No, I suppose I'll just keep that to myself. I can shrug and look stupid. It's a talent." He paused, then continued, "Speaking of Morrigan, do you know where she went? I'm told she vanished right after the battle. No goodbyes or anything."

"Do you really care?" she asked, skeptically.

"Me? No! Good riddance, I say." He closed the distance between them and whispered seductively in her ear, "At any rate, I can't wait to be alone with you. These formal affairs drive me insane."

His closeness made her quiver in familiar anticipation, but she grasped his hands and stepped back slightly. "Alistair," she said, gently, "We need to talk. There is something I need to tell you." He looked at her, concerned. "You know you can tell me anything, what is it?" She glanced around. They were in an alcove away from the main party, but it was hardly private. "Not here. Meet me in your chambers at sunset, okay? I think we should mingle a little first - it might look bad if we disappear together so soon."

"But Sol, I don't care what they think. You were the one who told me nobody can make a king do something he doesn't want to."

With a sigh, she said, "Alistair, it's your first day as king. I think you should try to make a good impression at least. Most of the nobles hardly know you."

He sighed. "You're right." He leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the lips. "See you in a few hours then?" And he strode off purposefully towards the crowd, waving and greeting and shaking hands with nobles as he went.

Solona took the opportunity to greet the other members of their team and bid farewell to those who would be departing. She was too distracted for teary goodbyes and managed to evade most questions about her own plans, simply stating that she hadn't decided yet. She got waylaid by several eager fans wanting to hear heroic stories of her journey which she did her best to indulge. When she reached the far end of the hall she thought she caught a glimpse of a small grey dog in the shadows of one corner. When she looked closer the creature looked back at her, nodded its head once, and then ran out the door. Morrigan, she thought. Having mingled about as much as she could stand by this point, she turned and headed back into the palace towards Alistair's chambers.

* * *

She found him standing by a window in the outer room. He had changed out of his decorative armor and into a more comfortable blue doublet and trousers. He turned and smiled at her when she walked in. She closed the door behind her and took a deep breath. The best thing to do was just to say it, but the words caught in her throat. She felt as though a heavy weight rested in her chest where her heart should be. This man loved her and she was about to break his heart, and the knowledge tore her apart.

She walked over to the window and stood beside him, looking silently out at the courtyard below. She clenched her hands tightly at her sides, nails digging into her palms. She took a deep breath and found her voice finally, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

"Alistair, I can't stay with you," she said in a near whisper.

He turned his head to face her. He let out a soft chuckle and said, "Of course not. You can have your own room. It wouldn't look very good for the bachelor King to be shacking up with a woman he wasn't married to - a mage at that, even if she is the Hero of Ferelden." His voice softened and he added, "We'll be discreet... it's the only way for us to be together."

She grimaced at his lack of understanding.

"No. Alistair. I can't stay in Denerim," she said, her voice tight with suppressed emotion. She turned to face him and met his gaze with a pleading look.

His brow creased in confusion and his eyes searched hers. "Of course you can, I need you here with me, Sol. I can't do this _King_ thing without you."

With a note of sadness, she said, "Alistair, this is no place for me. It would be little better than if I were to go back to the Circle. You mean so much to me, but I can't just languish here for the sake of being near you. I need more... I need to _do_ more than just be a king's mistress."

She saw the muscles of his jaw spasm as he clenched his teeth. His look turned into an angry glare and he choked out his words, "But you said you would stay. I would never have agreed to be king if you weren't going to be here with me."

Her voice wavered, but she spoke with certainty. "We need to do what's best for Ferelden. I realize now that doesn't involve us staying together. As much as I care for you, I could never be your queen, Alistair, even if I wanted to. You _must_ be king, and eventually you must choose a queen." She took a deep, ragged breath and continued, speaking the words that she hoped would drive it home for him as much as she hated to hear herself speak them. "And it will be better if I'm out of the picture entirely when that happens."

"No!" he snapped so savagely it made her flinch. "What's bloody best for _Ferelden_ is if you _stay_. You're the Hero, Ferelden needs you. _I_ need you! I forbid it. Solona, I'm King and I... I forbid it." His voice grew desperate and shaky at the end, losing conviction as he realized he could never forbid this woman anything.

She watched in anguish as the mountain of strength and kindness before her began to crumble. Tears began to well up in his eyes and he screwed them tightly shut in an attempt to hold back the flood, but his chest began to spasm softly and a small sob escaped.

The tightness in her own chest gripped her painfully and she felt tears begin to well up in her own eyes. She reached out to him, raising one hand to cup his face gently and stroke away the wetness beginning to creep over his cheeks.

"Alistair," she spoke tenderly through her own tears that were falling unchecked down her face. "Shhh... Alistair, it will be alright." He shook his head vigorously in denial and grabbed her in a tight embrace, burying his face in her leather-clad shoulder and weeping like a child.

They stood and wept in each other's arms, Alistair sobbing softly as she held him, her own quietly falling tears soaking into the fabric of the quilted velvet covering the sturdy shoulder beneath her cheek. She clung to him as tightly as he clung to her. This would likely be the last time they would ever hold each other, she thought, and was gripped by another wave of sadness.

After several moments his weeping subsided and she felt a subtle but recognizable shift in his hold on her. His large hands drifted down her back and his crying against her neck became gentle nuzzling. She let out a quiet sigh when she felt his lips against her throat, trailing soft, fervent kisses up to her lips which he captured savagely with his own. She groaned against him, the desperate need building in her abruptly as she felt his own need pressing against her. It struck them both with the speed and force of a late summer thunderstorm and they gave in as they always had, letting the hunger of their tainted blood drive them past their despair and into the realm of frenzied lust made all the stronger for their mutual desolation.

They stripped in hurried desperation and fell to the floor in a tangle of naked limbs, caressing and grasping and biting each other, finally joining together in a crash that they realized later had been the sound of a decorative pot being knocked off its stand by a stray elbow or foot, shattering on the carpeted floor behind them.

Afterward they lay spent, sweaty and panting on the carpet amidst the detritus of their scattered garments and shards of the broken pot. Alistair propped himself on one elbow and gazed at her tear-stained face where she faced him from the floor.

"What will I do without you, Sol?" he asked, his tone so full of abject misery it made her heart clench inside her chest. She turned towards him and propped herself on one elbow, reaching up with one hand to stroke the scruff on his strong jaw.

She gave him a sad smile. "You'll be king, as you were meant to be. And you'll be fantastic at it, and everyone will love you. That's what you'll do."

He picked up her hand in his and laid a gentle kiss in the center of her palm, then surveyed the room around them. He sighed and said, "Maybe you're right. It's probably safer for the decor if we aren't both living here, I think." She laughed ruefully but looked mildly chagrined, "I hope that wasn't an expensive piece of art. You're going to need every resource available to rebuild the city."

"Ugh. Not going to think about that now. No more King stuff for the rest of the day. Um... night, I mean," he said looking out the window at the growing darkness. He turned back to her and watched her for a long time in the dim light, as though trying to memorize every inch of her features. He brought one hand up and toyed with a short strand of her hair.

"You should let it grow out. It really is very pretty," he said, and let his fingertips trail from her temple softly down the side of her face.

She wrinkled her nose at this and ran her fingers through her hair making it stand on end. "You don't think it makes me look old? It's whiter than Wynne's!"

Alistair replied, "It's unusual, but I only knew you for a few hours before … before you woke up from your Joining and it was like this. I can't imagine you without it now."

He cupped her face in his large hand and leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. He spoke in a whisper, "Sol, if I never see you again, I will always picture you just as you are at this moment. You're beautiful. White hair and scars and everything."

His eyes dropped to her chest and he his hand drifted down to trace her scar gently with one finger, still amazed that she had survived.

"It's just a scratch," she joked and said wistfully, "another trophy to remember our time together."

A sudden gleam came into his eyes and he snapped his fingers. A wide grin spread over his features that was at odds with the stray tears still dampening his cheeks. She gave him a look of perplexed amusement.

"Speaking of trophies," he said as he stood up abruptly, "I have a present for you." He was suddenly slightly giddy with excitement. He wiped the tears from his eyes and lit a small lamp, then fairly skipped over to a nearby bookcase to find something that was stashed behind some books. She propped her head in her hand and watched as he moved across the room, smiling faintly and admired his bare, muscular backside in the flickering lantern light as he stood fishing for his treasure. She was going to miss him terribly.

A moment later he brought a small package back to her, a brilliant smile still lighting up his face.

He lay down next to her again, propped up on one elbow with the gift in his hands. Whatever this was it must be good if he was so proud of it. She smiled back at him indulgently and took the box. She turned and lay back so both hands were free, resting the box on her bare stomach while she untied the small, red ribbon and ripped off the delicate paper. When she opened the box and saw what was inside, she sat up abruptly, a look of disbelief on her face. Inside the box was a round ivory amulet, and on its smooth surface was an exquisitely etched scene of a dragon and wolf, rampant, with a high mountain behind them.

Alistair's face fell when she failed to say a word after a few moments of staring at the gift, "You hate it don't you."

She was still speechless for several beats, then managed to say, "No... oh, Alistair! I love it! This is amazing!" Looking up at him again, she asked in disbelief, "Where did you find this?"

"Oh. Well." He puffed out his chest in pride. "It's actually a piece of the tooth I kept from the Archdemon. Bodahn said that Sandal had some skill at carving. I asked him to carve a dragon on it, like the Archdemon, but I think he tried to add a picture of Lusa, too... although that doesn't really look like a Mabari," he said looking at the amulet skeptically. "But he seemed so excited to be making something for the 'pretty dragon lady' and was so proud of it I hated to tell him he got it wrong. He said he also put a special enchantment on it, but he wouldn't tell me what, he just kept saying 'enchantment!' like he does and that it was for the pretty dragon lady."

She turned it over and saw two tiny runes she didn't recognize etched on the back of the ivory disc. One of them glowed slightly. She tried to sense what magic it had on it, but still couldn't discern what the enchantment might be. Finally she handed it to Alistair, "Put it on me, please?" and turned around so he could place the amulet around her throat and close the clasp at the back of her neck.

She heard him ask quietly from behind her, his voice quavering, "So, where are you going to go?"

She stiffened and looked at the floor, "I... I'm leaving Ferelden, Alistair. That's all I can tell you."

He gave her a skeptical look. "What should I tell the Grey Wardens if they ask? I think they had plans to promote you to Warden Commander and send you off to Amaranthine. You wouldn't have to stay in Denerim if you did that... and you'd be great at it."

She turned to face him again, the amulet heavy against her collarbone. She shook her head and shrugged, "They'll have to find someone else to do that job. Tell them... I don't know, tell them I developed a death wish after killing the Archdemon and went off hunting wolves … and dragons."

He looked shocked at this. "You aren't _really_ going off to hunt dragons, are you? I mean... not that you couldn't or anything."

She met his gaze and thought briefly about telling him the truth, but knew he wouldn't understand, so she settled for a fabricated version of the truth that he might be able to grasp. "I just feel like … I don't know, like it's my destiny to do more to try to help end the blights once and for all. I need to search for whatever information I can to find out if that's possible."

"But surely if that's what you want to do the Grey Wardens would want to help you," he said. "Are you going to the Anderfels? To Weisshaupt Fortress? Is that it? You could have told me that, you know."

"No..." she said with a small shake of her head.

"To Tevinter then? That's where they say it all started, anyway. With the magisters. I suppose it would make more sense to start there."

She studied him intently for a moment and shrugged, lowering her gaze, not wanting to lie to him outright. She heard him sigh in relief, apparently accepting her noncommittal response as a 'yes'.

She saw his hand come up and felt his fingertips gently brush her cheek again. The familiar gesture caused her to smile and simultaneously a fresh wash of emotion rose up in her chest.

"When are you leaving," he asked quietly, his voice beginning to betray his own sadness again.

"Tomorrow, after I buy supplies," she said and reached out to grasp his hand where it rested on the carpet between them.

After a pause he said imploringly, "Sol, please stay with me, just for tonight... just one more night."

She met his gaze and nodded. She could give him one more night.


	4. The Eluvian

She and Lusa met Morrigan the next day in a small grove outside the northern gates of Denerim. They set off with few words and traveled for a few days until they reached the Dragonbone Wastes. It was a desolate place, with paths winding in between fallen dragon skeletons. Nothing seemed to grow here, either. But she could feel the power of the Eluvian the moment they stepped within its bounds. Morrigan told her it was still a day away, but she could still feel its power, even from that far off.

"Why in the world is it here, of all places?" she asked as they navigated the winding paths through the bones.

Morrigan responded, "I think the Eluvian was here long before the dragons decided to make this place their dying grounds. Who knows why it was placed here to begin with, or who placed it. If Mother is correct, our world - Thedas, I mean - used to be the world of humans, and only humans lived in it. No monsters, no elves, no dwarves. Only humans."

Solona asked, "But how did the elves get here? And the dwarves? And the fucking dragons?"

Morrigan smirked, "Well, as for the elves and dwarves, they came from the world you're about to travel to, but the fucking dragons are a different story."

"So, how did they get here in the first place?"

Morrigan didn't speak for several moments, "I admit I'm still not sure myself, but what I've heard is that about a millennium and a half ago, there was some kind of cataclysm that caused a conjunction between the three worlds. They crashed together and somehow managed to survive and pull apart again. But pieces of each world remained in the other two, and the three worlds are irrevocably connected to each other. "

"So, there are three worlds. One was originally the human world. One was where the elves and dwarves lived, and the third? What was there?"

"Monsters. Or, if you believe your Chantry lessons, the Maker's first children who he abandoned because they were inferior. What kind of parent abandons a child, for any reason?"

"I didn't think you liked children"

"I don't, but that doesn't mean I would just abandon one if I were unhappy with it." Morrigan grew very quiet then, and when Solona looked at her she saw she had stopped walking and was just standing on the path with her hands on her abdomen.

"Are you okay?" Solona asked gently.

Morrigan said, "I'm fine... It's strange, sometimes it feels like he's talking to me, but I have to stop and concentrate to really understand."

"What was he saying? I mean, if you don't mind telling me..." Solona asked.

Morrigan said, "He... it's hard to say, there weren't exactly words exchanged, it was more like an expression of emotion. Like he was feeling... trust and understanding. I don't know how else to describe it."

Solona nodded, "That's what it was like when I felt him the first time. It wasn't like there were words... just a feeling."

They walked a few more paces and then Solona asked, "The Eluvians... if this world was originally a human world, where did the Eluvians come from?"

"I think the elves were the first to understand what had happened after the Conjunction. They are more closely connected to the fade anyway. After the Conjunction the elves that were trapped in the other worlds tried to find ways to communicate with the other elves and built the Eluvians to serve that purpose. I think they're the only ones who know of their existence, too. Except for us."

"Are there humans in the world I'm going to?"

"All three worlds share the same types of creatures, for the most part. But there hasn't been any interaction between worlds since they converged, so creatures may have evolved, or died out. And it's possible the world you're going to may be dominated by elves if that was where they originated, but I suspect the three worlds are balanced somehow. I'm not sure why, but I think that's the only way they could remain connected."

"What about the darkspawn. Can they infect the other worlds?"

She paused for a moment, "I am certain that darkspawn are not in the other worlds. It was the corrupt magisters in Thedas that brought those abominations into being. Darkspawn aren't really monsters - they're just corrupt versions of normal creatures like us. Also, the only access to the other worlds is through an Eluvian, and the elves have guarded those closely for over a millennium. If one becomes corrupt, they destroy it."

"Do the dragons come from the monster world, then?"

Morrigan hesitated for a second, then answered, "No. The dragons are... beyond worlds. I don't know how to explain it. I guess you could say that they are corporeal reflections of the Old Gods in the real world."

"So, I guess if it's made by the Blight then it doesn't count as a 'monster', right? What does count as a monster?"

"Good question. There really aren't that many in this world that I've seen. Or they keep quiet because of the darkspawn. Witherfang was one, I think, and creatures like her. Deepstalkers and Nugs, too."

"Nugs? Are you serious? Nugs are from an alternate universe?" Solona looked at her friend in disbelief.

"Okay, I admit I don't know that for certain, but they're just so... otherworldly... and creepy. It stands to reason..."

Solona laughed at her, "Okay, I think I understand. It feels like we're really close now anyway. I think my hair is standing on end from all the magical energy floating around here. Is it like this by every Eluvian?"

"This is the first one I've ever encountered, so I don't know, to be honest," Morrigan replied. "But I do believe we are close."

When they rounded the next bend in the path, they saw it. A glowing elliptical structure that appeared to be made of dragon bones stood in the middle of a small clearing surrounded by more dragon skeletons. One large skull on the left side of it seemed to be staring at Solona with its eyeless sockets. They stepped closer to it. The power emanating from it made Solona's teeth ache. It seemed almost like it was trying to draw her in. When she looked around she saw a few sad trees nearby that looked the way she felt, with their branches trained towards the portal as though they were about to be sucked in, roots and all.

"No time to waste," she heard Morrigan say. "Let's get this over with. You have the Grimoire, yes?"

She did, but she didn't want to pull anything out of her pack right now for fear it would be sucked in.

They walked up to the threshold of the portal, and gazed up at it in wonder. "I didn't think it would be so big," Solona said.

"Nor did I," Morrigan responded.

"So how does this work exactly?" Solona asked, looking at her friend.

"Like I told you the other night, there is a small ritual to perform to attune it to the correct world. I will go first. Then you will perform the ritual for yourself after I pass through. If you read the Grimoire you know what to do. Good luck, Solona."

Morrigan looked a little wistful and stepped forward to hug Solona goodbye. Overcome by emotion and the overwhelming scale of their mission Solona hugged her back tightly.

"Good luck," she said, not knowing what else to say at this moment.

Within the span of a couple breaths, Morrigan had recited the words for her ritual. The Eluvian brightened and the fog seemed to clear from its surface. Solona thought she could see a wavering image of snow-capped mountains through the shimmering field. And then the witch stepped through into the other world and the surface clouded over again.

Solona stared for a few moments. When she heard Lusa's subtle whine next to her she finally came to her senses.

"My turn," she said, shaking her head and letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding all along.

"Okay, Lusa, when I say the words and start to go, you have to go with me, understand?"

The dog whuffed in response.

"Okay. Here we go." She recited the ritual words she'd already memorized, waited for the smoke in the Eluvian to clear into a crisp image of a lush, green forest, and then stepped through with Lusa at her side.


	5. The Other Side

Solona and Lusa emerged from the Eluvian into a lush, green forest. She saw what appeared to be Elven ruins surrounding the small clearing where the Eluvian stood. Beneath her feet were mossy stones, when she bent to look more closely she could make out intricate patterns of different colored stones that radiated out in a starburst from the Eluvian. She walked into the clearing a few paces then turned to look back at the Eluvian and saw that this one seemed to be made entirely of thick green vines, rooted to the earth at the base and twining around each other to frame the now smoky surface inside the portal she had just passed through.

She caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye and turned her head towards it. Lusa barked sharply and raced to one side of the clearing in the direction of the movement. He stopped at the base of a large broken pillar, continuing to bark at something he saw at the top. She looked up and had to strain her eyes to make out the figure crouched at the top of the pillar. When she drew closer she saw what appeared to be a young woman with green tinged skin and hair that snaked over her shoulders and arms like the vines that snaked around the column she rested atop. She had a small bow with an arrow trained on Solona.

"Lusa," she scolded, "come to me." The dog obeyed and rested on his haunches by her side, still watching the woman on the pillar intently.

"Hello?" Solona said, tentatively, craning her head up to look at the woman.

The dryad's bow remained aimed at Solona's heart.

In a lilting, melodious voice the young woman said, "Greetings, Gwynrhena, you have been expected."

She lowered her bow and placed the arrow back in the quiver on her back.

Solona slowly let out the breath she'd been holding as she watched the woman climb down from her perch. Up close, Solona was surprised to see that the young woman was almost completely nude. She was clad only in the small viny strap that crossed her shoulders and held her bow and quiver, an elaborately woven vine belt resting low around her hips, and matching cuffs at each wrist and ankle. Her skin was a pale green color and her hair was twisted into vine-like tendrils with small flowers woven into it. She had pointed ears not unlike an elf's and sharply slanted eyes that took Solona's measure in a single glance, resting only briefly on the pendant at her throat.

"Please follow me, Gwynrhena," she said, and turned to walk from the clearing down a small path that Solona was certain had not existed a moment ago.

"Wait," Solona said, irritated at the woman's abruptness. "Who are you? And what did you call me?"

The dryad kept walking, forcing Solona to follow. When she caught up, the woman said, "We have been told of your coming for centuries, Gwynrhena. Aen Henbeanna visited us at Midsummer and told us your arrival would occur on this day."

"Who is this 'Aen Henbeanna'?" Solona asked, suppressing her irritation.

"You may know of her as Asha'bellanar. The old one. She is the keeper of prophecies for our world and yours."

"Flemeth?" Solona asked, incredulous. Then realized she really shouldn't be that surprised after recent experience and what she had read in the grimoire Morrigan had given her. The witch had clearly been orchestrating this for some time. Solona wondered if she was only ensuring that events occurred as they were meant to according to the prophecies, or if she was manipulating them to her own benefit.

"That is another of her many names, yes," the young woman replied.

"And this prophecy, the one that foretold of my coming... do you know this prophecy? I have been trying to understand the details, but some of it is in a language I don't quite understand."

The young woman nodded her head as she continued to lead Solona through the winding forest paths.

"We will help you to understand your purpose here, Gwynrhena."

The dryad paused where the path seemed to end in a thicket of dense foliage and performed a series of elaborate hand gestures, Solona watched with growing fascination as the foliage ahead of them parted, leaving a high arched doorway that revealed a large, perfectly circular grove surrounded at even intervals by several large, old trees covered in smooth grey-green bark, that stood as sentinels on the edge of the circle.

The grove had a shimmering pool in its center, dappled by what sunlight made it through the dense canopy of leaves overhead. In the center of the pool was a small island upon which rested a large throne constructed of flowering vines. On the throne sat another dryad, who resembled her guide, but whose stature was far more impressive. She was dressed in a gown of sheer, gauzy fabric that glistened as though with dew that sparkled when the scattered sunbeams would hit it. Her hair was longer than the other dryad's, but similarly twisted into viny lengths and sprinkled with small blooms. She rose to her feet when Solona and her guide entered the grove. When she rose, Solona sensed movement in the forest all around her. When she looked around she noticed that the grove had become brighter, as though the canopy above had parted to allow more sunlight to illuminate the ground beneath. She thought she could sense movement among the tree branches around them. Glancing up she was sure she could see eyes watching them from every tree.

Her guide walked forward into the clearing, stopping to kneel at the edge of the pool before the throne.

"I have brought her to you, as instructed, my queen."

"Thank you, daughter," the dryad queen responded in a voice that tinkled like a burbling brook and was breathy like a light breeze passing through the leaves of the forest. It was even more beautiful to Solona than the younger dryad's had been. Solona's guide rose and stepped across the pool on flat stones that Solona could now see just beneath the surface, and stood facing her at the side of the throne.

The dryad queen sat again on her throne and turned her gaze on Solona. "Come forward, Gwynrhena," she said.

Solona stepped forward and, following her guide's example, opted to genuflect at the edge of the pool before the woman. The dryad queen's ringing laughter reverberated around the grove.

"Rise, Gwynrhena. You and I are equals."

"What is the name you keep calling me?" Solona asked, rising to her feet.

"You are the White Queen of the prophecy: Gwynrhena. You are the keeper of the White Flame that will save our worlds from annihilation."

Solona stood quietly while the information sank in.

"But... I am not a queen. I am barely even of noble birth," she cautiously objected.

"You _are_ the queen of the prophecy, beloved of kings, touched by dragons. Soon you will hold the flame of hope to see us through our darkest hours. Your actions will balance the worlds that are even now beginning to tilt towards oblivion."

The dryad queen paused and made a small gesture that Solona could not interpret. Gradually she began to notice creatures emerging from the forest around her, climbing down the trees and creeping out of the dense foliage. Some appeared to be other dryads, others were woodland animals, some creatures she didn't recognize. They eventually rested near the edges of the pool and sat watching the exchange between their queen and the visitor.

"As for your birth..." The woman continued in her hypnotic, melodious voice. "Names mean nothing to the prophecy. It is your blood that matters. Your blood holds the perfect balance of two worlds. For our worlds to survive, you must complete the threefold balance that has already begun in your blood with a third component, and you must complete the ritual. The ritual will balance our worlds. The fruits of the ritual will be the White Flame that illuminates the way to peace for our worlds and will ensure that balance is maintained."

Solona was beginning to understand. Her father had been an elf, her mother human. She wondered what the third component was.

"The Witchers - do they hold the third component?" she asked, feeling like the pieces were finally starting to fall into place.

The dryad queen smiled at her, "Ah, you begin to see. Yes, the Witchers hold the keys to completing the balance. They are more of the old world than they are of my world or yours, though they may not realize it. You already possess the catalyst in your blood that will allow you to undergo their trials. Their blood will provide the balance you seek. But not just any Witcher. You must seek out the Gwynbleidd. He is the one who is destined to complete the balance with you. Once you have completed the trials, his will be the only blood potent enough for the final ritual to succeed. It is his seed that will ignite the White Flame."

"Why me, exactly?" Solona asked, testing. "If all you needed was someone with half human, half elven blood, surely you could have found someone in your own world to fulfill this prophecy?"

"It is more than that, as I think you know. You commune with the oldest ones, you have been marked by them, chosen as their queen, their champion. No one else possesses the gifts that you possess. Some bestowed upon you by birth, some by war, others by kings. You are the only Gwynrhena. You are destined for this path."

Solona wasn't surprised by the response. She thought she knew, but wanted to hear someone else say it. She had the dragon mark, the elven blood, _magic_ blood. She had the Old Gods speaking to her in her dreams, she had the taint running through her. And she had this exquisite and perplexing piece of jewelry that Alistair had given her as her farewell gift, crafted by a truly unique little dwarf who seemed to have had more insight into the way of things than she had realized. She knew the amulet was significant to her journey. It was unfortunate that she hadn't had time to speak to Sandal before she left to see if he could tell her what its significance was. She also thought it a strange form of justice that this should be her path after imposing a similar fate on Alistair. _All things come full circle in the end,_ she thought.

"Can you tell me how to find this Gwynbleidd?" she asked.

As if reading her mind, the dryad queen pointed at her amulet and said, "Your paths are destined to cross. Listen to the wolf and you will find him." Solona touched her amulet in surprise. _Was that what it was for?_

"What do I do after I find him?" she asked.

"He will provide the answers you seek when you tell him who you are."

The dryad queen turned to look at Solona's guide who still stood at her side.

"Daughter," she said, "please show Gwynrhena the path to begin her journey."

The younger dryad nodded and stepped back across the pool to Solona's side.

As they were about to turn to leave, she heard the woman's melodious voice call to her.

"Gwynrhena, before you go there is something of great importance I must tell you."

Solona waited, and nodded slightly to indicate she was listening.

The woman continued, "You carry a heavy burden with this task. It is important that you let go of the other burdens you carry if you are going to complete this journey successfully."

Solona looked back at her confused, and said, "I have no other burdens besides this one."

The woman raised one eyebrow and said, "Are you certain? I sense there is another burden you carry, something deeply buried. You need to expose this burden and cast it aside if you are going to succeed."

Solona met the other woman's eyes and felt as if her deepest secrets were on display. She felt a surge of irritation that the woman would presume to tell her how to deal with her own feelings.

She said through clenched teeth, "My burdens are mine alone and have no bearing on this endeavor," and turned to follow her guide out of the grove.

They walked in silence for several hours. Solona continued to dwell on the dryad queen's warning, skirting around the memories without actually breaching them. The Circle and her ordeals there were in the past and she would never return. Never. And her current mission was far too important for her to go wading through the flotsam of the past. She just needed to make sure it stayed securely buried so it wouldn't interfere.

When they reached the eastern edge of the forest, the young dryad stopped and said to her, "This is where we must part ways. You must travel to the east, over the Owl Hills. On the other side is a small village where you will be able to replenish your supplies and acquire a mount to continue your journey. The hills are easy enough to cross, but will still take you several days, so plan accordingly. It is not safe to sleep in this forest at night, but there are Elven ruins not far from here where you can make camp."

As she turned to go she said, "Va faill, Gwynrhena."

"Va faill," Solona replied, then turned and started walking up the hilly path before her.

* * *

The hills were easy to cross, and the scenery was breathtaking. It was clear that autumn was setting in, the trees aflame with fiery colors and the air becoming crisp. It was invigorating to be traveling through a new land but she couldn't help but feel lonely at times. The weather had been mostly fair, and there was a waxing moon to follow them, so most nights she and Lusa would curl up together under the stars, and she would fall asleep and find company with the wolf in her dreams.

_She was soaring through the air over heavily wooded mountains. The bright sun above her cast a dark shadow of her large body and outstretched wings that rippled across the autumn-gilded trees below as she flew over. When she passed over a clearing, she saw a streak of white that seemed to be keeping pace with her as she flew. She dipped down for a closer look and saw a white wolf running along a path through the trees. He ran up the path and stopped on a large outcropping of rock, tilted his head toward the sky and howled. She let loose a trumpeting roar in response and continued her flight towards a half ruined fortress miles before her on the horizon._

She heard harsh growls and with sudden awareness realized that the wolf in her dream wasn't the source. She came awake beneath the bright orb of a full moon and reached immediately for her staff that she had left just beside her pallet. Lusa was several yards away, growling and barking at something lurking in the darkness. She rose from her pallet with her staff aimed in the direction of the dog's barking. "Who's there!" she yelled, hoping that who or whatever was lurking in the darkness wasn't hostile.

Lusa continued to growl fiercely at whatever he was sensing in the shadows of the trees, then suddenly leapt into the shadows after it. She yelled, "Lusa, no!" and moved quickly and carefully towards the shadows he had disappeared into, her staff held out in one hand, ready for a fight. She heard sounds of snarling and snapping teeth in the darkness, accompanied by the sounds of some creature crying out in pain, and the stench of dead flesh. Her instincts were suddenly on high alert. _It smells like Darkspawn... but they're not supposed to be here... and I would have sensed them, wouldn't I?_ She conjured a small flame in her palm to illuminate the forest around her. Just ahead she could see Lusa in the process of ripping the throat out of a naked, hairless, grey-skinned creature with sharp teeth still snapping ineffectually at the big black dog. Through the eerie shadows the struggling figures cast she could see more sets of eyes reflecting the light of her small flame. She counted three sets of eyes watching them. "Lusa, to me," she commanded softly. He shook the dead creature's limp neck in his jaw once more for good measure and then retreated back to his master's side, panting, with black ichor dripping from his tongue.

The creatures were too spread out for her to hit them all at once. She might be able to get two of them, though. She crouched down slowly next to her dog. "Lusa," she whispered to him, and pointed slowly in the direction of one creature so he could see, "Wait until I say go, then kill it." He turned and nuzzled the side of her face in acknowledgement and she had to resist retching at the scent of death on his breath. She stood again and readied her staff, extinguishing her small flame and aiming her staff between the other two creatures. "Now!" she commanded and Lusa charged into the shadows again, snarling. Using her staff to channel, she threw a paralysis spell hoping to encompass both of the other creatures in its circle, then moved forward so she could get a better focus on each one.

Something vaguely human-shaped suddenly came charging out of the shadows to her right, slashing claw-like fingers at her and gnashing sharp teeth. Her spell had missed one of the creatures. She ducked quickly to avoid the sweep of its clumsy arms and swung the sharp, bladed end of her staff around in a wide arc, neatly cutting its legs off at the knees. The creature howled in agony as its body lost support and it crashed to the ground with a heavy thud. It continued to claw its way towards her, its razor-sharp teeth gnashing and slobbering with sticky saliva. She grimaced in disgust and petrified it just as it began to grasp at her feet, then brought her staff down on it sharply, shattering its remains into a pile of crumbling shards of stone. She turned quickly to locate the other creature that was hopefully still paralyzed, finding it still standing basked in the light of the full moon, its eyes darting around frantically. Not wishing to get any closer to it than she had to, she petrified this creature like she had its brother and hurled a conjured stone fist at it, shattering it into another cascade of broken stone.

She turned and ran back through the trees to where she could still hear the sounds of fighting between Lusa and the third creature. When she was nearly there, she heard Lusa's pained yelp, and could just barely see through the shadows that the creature had the dog pinned beneath it and was bending over him with its gaping, drooling maw poised over his belly. "Fight me, you fucking bastard!" she yelled out, and hurled a fireball at its head. It screamed and stumbled around comically for a few seconds attempting to swat at the fire engulfing its head, and then collapsed into an unmoving heap a few paces away, its head still smoldering slightly and emitting the noxious stench of rotten, burned flesh.

Lusa whimpered pitifully and struggled to rise from the ground. She rushed over to him and knelt down.

"Shush, sweetie. I'll take care of you," she said, stroking his fur gently and trying to feel where his injuries were. He licked at her hands weakly and then obeyed, lying still but whining faintly as she inspected him for injuries. She closed her eyes and summoned her healing magic to sense where there was broken flesh. She found it on one side, deep gouges from the creature's sharp claws extending from his shoulder to his haunches. She felt him tense when she touched it.

"Shhh, it's okay," she said trying to sooth her injured companion. She mumbled several unintelligible syllables and passed her hands over the dog's wounds, greenish light glowing beneath her fingers as his flesh knit back together. After a moment his whining ceased and his body relaxed, his breathing becoming regular again. She sat quietly for several minutes, stroking his head and whispering soothing words to him. Finally he hopped to his feet as though nothing were troubling him and gave her a thorough lick across her face.

"Ugh!" she yelled, objecting but unable to resist laughing at his apparent gratitude. She stood and they walked back to their small camp. She placed several protective wards around them and then they curled back up together on her pallet where she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She awoke at dawn and packed up her things, then out of curiosity went back through the trees where the fight had happened the night before and found what was left of the creatures she and Lusa had killed. In the early light she could see that they weren't Darkspawn, but despite their stench they weren't corpses, either. They were something monstrous and different from anything she had encountered before. Looking further, she found an obvious trail and followed it a bit further into the forest where she came across a small cemetery surrounded by a crumbling stone wall. The few graves within had been dug up and the remains of its inhabitants were scattered around haphazardly, bones broken into splinters as though something had been chewing on them. Lusa whined faintly next to her and she felt a small shiver pass down her spine. "Foul stuff, huh?" she said, and then turned back to their trail.

* * *

It took a few more days of travel before she encountered the village the dryad had told her of, where she was greeted by a multitude of curious, chattering children and curious but more reserved adults. The people here didn't seem that different from Fereldens, really. If anything, they seemed friendlier to her.

She was graciously given lodging with a small family of farmers. The young woman and her husband were very curious about her origins, but didn't seem very worldly so she was able to satisfy them with vague answers. She was able to learn that she was in the western part of a province called Temeria, and the nearest city, Vizima, was a week's travel to the east.

When she asked her hosts of the Witchers she got a strange response; the woman blushed deeply and her husband scowled and said, "A pretty girl like you ought to steer clear of the Witchers if you care about preserving your virtue." Then their young son who was in the corner playing with Lusa piped up about how Witchers were mighty monster hunters and he wanted to be one when he grew up. To which his father replied that Witchers liked to steal young children from their homes and perform wicked experiments on them, and that's how they made them Witchers to start with.

"They may start out little boys, but they're not human when they finish with them, if they even survive," he concluded ominously. The little boy sulked, and his mother meekly spoke, "But they do us a service in the countryside, killing monsters. They aren't all bad, but there are hardly any left anymore." She had a kind of far away look then, as if recalling a distant memory. When her husband looked at her his scowl deepened. Solona wondered what their story was but didn't want to pry.

The next morning she acquainted herself with the local farrier who pointed her to a small farm on the other side of town where she might be able to purchase a horse for her journey. He told her that if she brought the horse back to him he would sell her tack and give her a discount on shoeing as well. A few hours later she was back in the village replenishing some supplies while her new steed, a good natured gray gelding named Ghost, was getting new shoes.

When she was at the stables later, preparing to saddle the horse with the new tack she had just purchased, her hostess from the previous night came to her and hesitantly said, "Witchers have a bad reputation as people go, but they do a service and, well, they only hurt monsters."

"Oh?" Solona said, adjusting the cinch on her horse's saddle, "Why do they have a bad reputation exactly?" she inquired with a sidelong glance at the woman.

The woman blushed deeply as she had the evening before. "Well... they … um..." she looked intently at her shoes for a moment, then she looked off into the distance and quietly said, "It's said they are unfeeling, but I believe they are a lonely sort, and don't find much comfort out there with those monsters. I think they long for comfort and take it where they can. And I think any maid who can give comfort should feel honored."

She paused and looked at Solona directly, "But I don't think the menfolk like it. I think they feel threatened, but they shouldn't. Witchers don't steal women, and it's said they can't make babies, neither. At least I never heard of one getting someone with child... not ever. They just want... comfort... sometimes."

Solona understood more than she would acknowledge to the woman. She asked, gently, "So, did you know one, then? A Witcher?"

The woman looked over her shoulder to make sure they were alone, then stepped closer to Solona. Conspiratorially she continued, "Aye, when I was a maid I lived with my grandma outside Vizima and used to work sometimes as a serving girl at a tavern outside the city. One day he came in and he was so exotic! But a little frightening to look at, too. He had this terrible scar on his face," she traced a finger lightly over one eyebrow and down her cheek, "and he had snow-white hair - like yours," she said, giving Solona's hair a curious glance. "But he was very courteous and, oh, such a flatterer." She hesitated for a second, then continued, "That night when I was walking home, some men set on me... rapists..." she scowled, "and out of nowhere the Witcher showed up and beat them all silly. And then he just walked me home," she said, matter-of-factly. "He was such a gentleman, too. That night I decided that I would thank him somehow..." she trailed off and blushed deeply.

Solona smiled at her in understanding and asked, "So you thanked him with a … favor?" The other woman nodded, blushing and smiling faintly.

Solona said, "I doubt I would have done any less were I you. I guess it was memorable for you, then?"

The woman suddenly gushed, "Oh, yes! I don't think I've ever... well, my husband is the only man I've been with since, but the Witcher was just so..."

She seemed to be at a loss for words, so Solona nodded and offered, "Indescribable?" The woman nodded in response, looking a bit dreamy.

_Interesting,_ Solona thought. She hadn't had any idea what to expect when meeting this Witcher she was looking for, but was beginning to think there might be something to look forward to after all. _Anyone who makes a habit of saving young women from rapists can't be all bad, anyway._ A brief memory flashed through her mind _(strong arms scooping her up gently and carrying her away from a dark place, speaking soft, soothing words; gentle hands healing wounds that seemed to pierce her very soul),_ she shook her head sharply and shoved the memory away. _Keep it together, dammit,_ she thought, _no time to dwell on the past now._

Finished with her packing, Solona mounted up and whistled for Lusa, who came bounding around the corner of the stables with his new friend tearing after him. The little boy gave the dog a big hug that was rewarded with a sloppy lick across his face amidst an exclamation of, "Ew!" and uncontrollable giggles. Solona said farewell to the woman, who waved to her and said with a twinkle in her eye, "Good luck. I hope you find your Witcher, miss."


	6. The Singer

Vizima was a cesspool as far as she could tell. She thought Denerim had been dirty, but it didn't really hold a candle to the level of filth she found when she reached the capital city of Temeria. She'd had to travel through a section of the city called Old Vizima, which seemed to be a parallel to the Elven alienages of the Fereldan cities, populated primarily with non-humans. Surprisingly, what she would consider the slums of Old Vizima were cleaner and more orderly than the main city was. In the city proper there were dank alleys littered with trash, sad, dejected looking prostitutes lurking on corners, homeless vagrants everywhere begging for coin.

She found a small stable in Vizima's Trade Quarter that looked somewhat clean, and determined after speaking with the proprietor that it was a reputable establishment and decided she would take a chance and board her horse there for the evening. She slung her pack over one shoulder and saddle bags over the other and set off in the direction of the inn the stable master had directed her towards.

She started hearing the screams coming from an alley as she rounded a bend past a cluster of shops that had closed for the evening. She stopped to listen for a second, then started walking purposefully towards the noise, gesturing to Lusa to hold back. When she got close she could hear the frantic muffled cries of a woman in distress and the eager, depraved laughter of some men who had set upon her. The sounds were all too familiar to her and she felt rage roiling in her gut. She dropped her belongings in a dark corner by a building and grabbed her staff from its holster on her back. She stepped quietly forward hoping to catch the men off guard.

When she peeked around a stack of discarded crates of rotting vegetables she could see them. There were three large men, two of whom were restraining a dark haired young woman while the third was intent on violating her. Solona didn't even stop to think when she saw them. Using her staff to channel the spell, she paralyzed the entire group. When they ceased moving, she walked forward slowly and deliberately, holding her staff out behind her slightly. Once she was within range of the man who had been in the process of violating the young woman, she raised her staff up and turned it so the sharp, bladed end was aimed at his throat. In a quick sudden sweep and a sharp yelp of rage she beheaded him and then stepped forward and kicked his lifeless body to the side.

Behind her, she heard Lusa barking loudly but was too consumed with rage to process it. She had an audience that she was unaware of at the mouth of the alleyway.

The man and the dwarf who had happened by stood there entranced for a moment, then the man said to the dwarf, "Zoltan, do you think we should help?"

The dwarf replied, "Och, no, Dandelion. Don't get in the way of a tempest if you can help it."

The man continued staring at the scene unfolding before them. A pretty young woman with short, snow-white hair was very gracefully executing three thugs at the other end of the alley. She had just chopped the head off one man, had set the second aflame with a spell, and was aiming one end of her staff at the third who had just regained control of his limbs and was attempting to run towards them to get away.

Dandelion asked, "Does she remind you of anyone?"

The dwarf replied, "She reminds me of my ex-fiance when she caught me... uh... nevermind."

The man said, "No, I mean the way she fights. That determination. She has style like she's done it her whole life. Doesn't she remind you of Geralt?"

The dwarf's heavy brows creased and he watched more intently, then said, "Aye, I see what you mean. She's definitely his type."

The man scowled at the dwarf, "That's not what I meant, I mean she  _fights_  like he does, with the same determination and deadly intent." But he thought,  _She is_ _exactly_ _Geralt's type, but Geralt isn't in Vizima today, and I am. I wonder if she likes music..._

The last thug ran to the exit where the man and dwarf were standing, but was confronted by a snarling black dog, fear plastered on his face. Just as he glanced up at Dandelion and squeaked out, "help!" his head exploded with the force of Solona's spell, showering them in a fine mist of blood, bone, and brains as his body slumped to the ground. She swung her staff around, a look of rage still transforming her features into something otherworldly. When Dandelion met her eyes he held them for a split second then was compelled to look away, a sense of self preservation taking over. She continued to look around for another victim to inflict her wrath upon.

The pitiful sound of a woman crying seemed to finally break her out of her trance. She dropped her staff and rushed over to the young woman who was curled up beside a pile of crates shivering and sobbing uncontrollably, trying in vain to cover her naked, damaged flesh with the remaining shreds of her dress. The young woman flinched when Solona reached out her hands to her.

"It's alright, they're gone now. They'll never hurt you again," Solona said in a soothing voice that still carried the brittle edge of rage.

The young woman sniffed and looked up into her face. "They're... gone?"

She looked around the alleyway, dubious that her assailants had actually been vanquished. Her eyes rested on the headless body of one of them, his trousers still crumpled around his thighs and the weapon he'd recently used in his assault still erect and pointing audaciously at the darkening sky. The young woman turned her head and vomited on the ground beside her.

Solona sat rubbing her back gently. "Come with me, I'll take you home," Solona said, urging the young woman to rise to her feet.

When she reached the mouth of the alley, she found Lusa keeping guard against an attractive, colorfully dressed man with a plumed hat and a lute strung across his back. Standing next to him was a scraggly dwarf with a short, tawny beard and a funny haircut. Both of them were attempting to clean the remnants of the last thug's demise off their skin and clothing.

"We would have helped," the man said, his voice low and sweet, "but it seemed like you had things under control..."

Solona snorted at him. "Give me your cloak," she said.

Her tone didn't leave room for objection so Dandelion obliged, handing over his soft, purple, and practically brand-new but now slightly blood-spattered cloak. Solona took it and draped it around the shoulders of the young woman next to her.

"If you two want to help, first we're going to take her home, and then I am going to need a strong drink. One of you can carry my things." She gestured toward the pile of her belongings still lying in the dark corner nearby and went to retrieve her staff.

Dandelion immediately rushed over and grabbed up her pack and saddle bags with little effort.

"You're stronger than you look," Solona said to him, teasing. Her rage had subsided and now she was feeling rather punchy and something about this man made him seem like an easy target.

"The name is Dandelion, the famous troubador, at your service," the man said, bowing before her with a flourish, and nearly losing his balance beneath the weight of her belongings, "and this is my good friend Zoltan Chivay," he gestured towards the dwarf, who gave her an equally deferential bow.

"Charmed, I'm sure," Solona replied with a smirk. "My name is Solona," she said, "and that's Lusa." She gestured towards the dog who sat licking himself as though the world depended on it.

She turned to the young woman next to her and asked quietly, "Can you show us how to get to where you live?"

The young woman nodded, keeping her eyes cast toward the ground she mumbled something softly. Solona nodded and began walking, her arm slung protectively over the other woman's shoulders and her new entourage following along behind.

They navigated their way around the winding alleys, the young woman pointing out the turns, and several minutes later finally arrived at the door to a ramshackle building she indicated was her home. Solona turned to the men and told them to wait, leaving them with Lusa outside the door as she went inside to make sure that the young woman would be okay.

The two men stood awkwardly on the doorstep, eyeing the large dog that stood watching them intently.

"Nice… pony," Dandelion said to the dog, nervously.

"Don't tell me you're scared of a pup, Dandelion," Zoltan said with a chuckle and reached into a small pouch at his hip.

Lusa's ears perked up when he heard the crinkle of paper and he sniffed the air around the dwarf curiously. A second later Zoltan produced a strip of dried meat and held it out gingerly to the dog, who was easily as tall as he was. The dog scarfed the treat down greedily, his cropped tail wagging and causing his entire backside to wiggle in delight. When he was finished with the treat he looked back at the dwarf expectantly.

"I can't give you all the treats, pooch," Zoltan said. "Perhaps if you don't eat us in the next hour you can have some more."

Lusa whined and looked crestfallen, then turned to look at Dandelion, hopeful.

"Don't look at me, dog," the bard said, holding up his hands, I don't generally carry lunch around with me."

The dog snorted in disapproval and then curled up next to the dwarf with his head on his paws.

"Looks like I have a new friend," the dwarf smiled and scratched Lusa affectionately behind the ears.

"A new friend who could swallow you whole from the looks of him," Dandelion muttered, and pulled his lute around his shoulders to begin tuning it for his performance later that evening. After testing a few chords he started playing a jaunty tune to warm up his fingers and his voice. As he started the second verse of the song he suddenly heard an unholy noise that caused him to falter and miss the next note in alarm. Turning to look to the side, he saw Zoltan doubled over in laughter and the big dog next to him sitting up on his haunches and howling melodically to the sky. When the music stopped, the dog looked at him and barked, his butt wiggling in excitement.

"Looks like he's a singer, too!" Zoltan said between hearty guffaws.

Dandelion began to strum the lute again, slowly, and the dog took up howling again,  _almost_  in harmony with the music. Dandelion continued playing and singing more enthusiastically, the next verse barely intelligible between the laughter he was unable to repress at hearing his new accompaniment.

After a minute, the door opened and Solona poked her head out.

"What the fuck are you doing to my dog?"

Both the bard and the dog grew silent and turned their heads to look at her with equally guilty expressions. Lusa whined faintly, and Dandelion made a similar noise.

Zoltan finally said, "Sorry for the noise, we were just - ah - entertaining ourselves while we waited for you. Your horse has a lovely singing voice, youknow." He grinned broadly at the mildly amused look she gave him. The door closed again briefly and then she came out, Dandelion's purple cloak slung over one arm.

"So, where can a girl get a drink?" she asked, unceremoniously tossing Dandelion's cloak to him.

"I have just the place," Dandelion replied, picking up his earlier burden to follow her down the street. "As it happens, we were just on our way to the New Narakort before we saw you ah..." he trailed off not sure how he could adequately describe exactly what he had witnessed.

Solona said immediately, cutting him off, "Sounds perfect. Just lead the way!"

"Right this way," Dandelion said, pointing the direction and falling into step beside her. Zoltan and Lusa followed behind them, the dwarf sureptitiously sneaking treats to his new friend most of the way.

For several paces he met her stride and kept shooting sidelong glances at her. After the third or fourth time she noticed him doing it she finally said, "Is there something you want to ask me, Dandelion?"

He was truly at a loss for words. Him. The famous troubadour who always had the right comeback for anything. What the hell? He looked at her for a moment and his heart skipped a beat. She was just so pretty, but not in a normal pretty-girl way. She looked  _dangerous_ , too -  _maybe it was the scar on her cheek - and that deadly staff she carried._  He had seen her in action with the staff just moments ago, and for some reason watching her fight had piqued his interest more than usual.

He said, "Ah, so what brings you to Vizima?"  _As if you couldn't think of anything more inane to ask,_  he thought, cringing to himself.

She glanced over at him. "Well, if you really want to know, I'm trying to find a certain Witcher."

Dandelion stopped short suddenly. There was a hollow, melodic  _thunk_  and a  _twang_  and an " _oof_ " and then loud curses from behind them.

"What the hell did you stop for?" Zoltan complained, rubbing his head where it had just collided with Dandelion's lute.

She looked back at Dandelion, one eyebrow raised, "Do you know any Witchers?"

A "certain" Witcher she had said... there was more than one Witcher. Maybe she wasn't looking for  _him_ , maybe she was looking for one of the  _other_  Witchers. His gut told him otherwise but he ignored it for now.

"Um, well... it depends on which Witcher you wish to find," he said, then laughed nervously at his unintentional alliteration. He started walking next to her again, his gut clenched in apprehension.

She could sense his sudden unease. "Is there something wrong?" she asked.

"No, nothing! Why do you ask?" he blurted quickly.

"No reason..." she said, looking at him skeptically. "I'm looking for the one they call the White Wolf or  _Gwynbleidd_ ," she said.

 _Dammit,_  he thought _._  Dandelion tried to sound as casual as possible when he answered even though he felt a subtle sinking feeling. Not only was she Geralt's type, she was actually actively looking for the bastard. No doubt because she had heard about what a fantastic lay he was.

Trying to sound nonchalant, he said, "Oh! Him! Why as a matter of fact, the White Wolf and I are old friends. Yep! We go wayyy back." He didn't really want to know, but for some reason he found himself asking anyway, "What do you want with him anyway?"

She seemed cagey, saying only, "I need his help with something… important."

She said nothing more. So maybe she'd just heard how good Geralt was at solving problems and was looking for him to help with something particularly complicated.

Feeling a bit more confident now, Dandelion asked with a concerned and he hoped a courageous and heroic expression, "If you don't mind me asking, what do you need his help with? Is there anything I can do?"

She smiled at him disarmingly and hooked her arm through his, saying only, "What you can do is buy me a drink when we get to this tavern we're going to."

* * *

Tavern was an understatement. In her plush room at the New Narakort Lusa lay napping as she bathed and changed into something more appropriate to fit in with the mostly noble clientele that seemed to frequent the establishment in the evenings. She had been surprised when they reached the place as it seemed like an oasis of gentility amidst the squalor evident in the city outside its doors. She learned that the reason for the city's poor conditions was the recent war and the death of Temeria's king, and there was some conflict about allowing his daughter and heir to ascend to the throne. Solona had no desire to get involved in politics since she knew how utterly bogged down she could get if she did. She needed to stay on track and was hoping she could avoid any political conflicts if possible.

More important was finding information on the Witcher. The bard Dandelion had sounded sincere when he'd boasted of having a connection to the man she sought. She would have to figure out a way to wheedle more information out of him if she got a chance. She had sensed his attraction to her so thought it highly possible that, were she to get him into a  _compromising_  position, she would be able to extract something useful from him. And he  _was_ extremely attractive, and charming, so she was actually looking forward to it. The two weeks since she'd come through the Eluvian had been largely solitary and she had realized along the way how much she missed the easy camaraderie of her little party, _especially certain parts - at night - in her tent - involving a certain former templar_. Needless to say she was looking forward to some companionship of a  _particular_ nature.

She had few options to choose from for evening attire. She could either wear her dragonhide armor, which was beautiful but really only acceptable for a formal affair at court (or for actual fighting); her other option was a red doeskin dress tailored in a popular Orlesian style that she had bought just before leaving Denerim. It had been a highly unusual find but had suited her needs perfectly. She had wanted clothing she could pack that would look good even after being shoved in her pack for days on end, so she had foregone any silks and tried to restrict herself to more durable materials. The doeskin dress was much more understated than the dresses she had seen the other noblewomen wearing who had just started arriving at the tavern when she was checking in. It was a relatively simple design but had dozens of tiny buttons which she had requested the tailor replace with a set of custom black dragonbone buttons she'd had carved into the shapes of small roses. The dress was form fitting in the bodice with a plunging neckline, a flared skirt, and simple bell sleeves. Once buttoned, the effect was rather alluring, her breasts pushed up and together making them seem larger than they actually were. In that factor it would blend in with the other noblewomen at least. Apparently revealing clothing was in vogue among noblewomen in this world.

After she finished dressing she sat at the dressing table scowling at herself in the mirror in the elaborately appointed – and not inexpensive – room she had paid for an hour earlier. Mostly she was scowling at her hair. It was beginning to grow out and was starting to curl ever so slightly, to her dismay, but was in that irritating in between stage and she really had no idea what to do with it. She finally just bent over and shook it vigorously then ran her fingers through it once more in irritation, trying to force it out of her eyes, and got up to go down to the tavern for dinner.

When they had first arrived a couple hours earlier she'd been surprised at both the the stature of the clientele and the apparent turnout at first, until the innkeeper had recognized Dandelion and it was as though she were nonexistent next to the troubadour. Dandelion's demeanor had changed, too. Suddenly he was acting the spoiled celebrity and making irrational demands, which she couldn't help but laugh at even though she had only been acquainted with him for short time. As he walked off amidst a small entourage of assistants and hangers on he looked back and gave her a flirtatious wink and blew her a kiss that made her laugh out loud.

Now she left her room and walked down the stairs towards the main room of the New Narakort. She stopped for a second on the landing to listen to the music. She could hear the melodic notes of Dandelion's lute rising up amidst the dissonant din of the tavern noises. As she walked down the steps she could hear his voice as he began to sing, deep and rich. He was good. She heard Lusa behind her bark quietly.

"You keep quiet tonight, okay?" she whispered, turning to him and giving him a hard look. He whined softly then licked her hand in acknowledgement. "Good boy," she said and scratched his head. "Maybe he'll ask for a duet later," she said in appeasement to the hound. He whuffed back hopefully.

They continued down the stairs into the main room of the tavern. The room seemed to grow quieter when she entered, except for the melody coming from the far side of the room where Dandelion was perched by the fireplace on a cushioned stool playing his lute and singing. She looked around and saw that most everyone's eyes, including the bard's, were aimed at her.

 _I must be underdressed or something_ , she thought, self conscious and trying to ignore the stares. The innkeeper was suddenly at her elbow and showing her to an empty table near the front of the room. She realized then that the attention was probably about the famous troubadour she had arrived with, and likely had nothing to do with her.  _He must really be very popular._ She looked up at him and smiled faintly as she took her seat. He smiled back, a twinkle in his eye as he continued to pluck his lute and sing.

Lusa found a spot under her table where he could lay facing the music. He seemed as enraptured by it as the rest of the patrons, which she found infinitely amusing. The dog had behaved the same way in their camp the past year whenever Leliana would pull out her lute and sing them songs.

A moment later she was joined at her table by the dwarf, Zoltan. He sat in the chair across from her, thunking a pair of heavy tankards down on the table between them and sliding one over to her.

"Your drink, as requested, m'lady," he nodded at her.

"My savior!" she said, grinning at him.

She raised her tankard in salute and he clanked his own against it then drank deeply. She turned and raised it again to Dandelion who nodded back ever so slightly as he continued his song, and then she took a hearty swallow.

"Wow, that is good, strong ale," she said to the dwarf, raising her eyebrows appreciatively.

"Aye, the best in Temeria!" he said, "Though not the cheapest. But I got lucky at dice tonight so drinks are on me!"

"I'll drink to that!" she said and took another swallow.

Zoltan laughed, "A girl after my own heart."

They sat drinking while Dandelion continued to play. His music was as intoxicating as the ale she was drinking and she found herself becoming lost in the melody. Then she started listening to the lyrics. It sounded like a love song at first, but had a sad note, and from the lyrics it was clear that it was about the Witcher.

"Odd," she heard Zoltan say, absently, "he usually ends the set with that one."

She looked across the rim of her drink at him and set the tankard down before taking another sip.

"Do you know the Witcher, too?" she asked.

The dwarf nodded. "Aye. Geralt of Rivia," he said. "He is an old, old friend. Good in a fight. Better with the ladies," he waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

She laughed softly. "I had heard of  _that_ reputation already, believe it or not."

"Well, Dandelion's songs do exaggerate to a degree," the dwarf confided, "but not about the man's prowess... or so I hear."

Solona raised her eyebrows at that, and the dwarf shrugged.

Curious, she asked, "This song he's playing now. It sounds very sad. Who is the woman in it?"

"The Witcher's lost love. The sorceress, Yennefer. She died some years ago," he said somberly, staring into his ale.

"That's sad," she said, the music eliciting a melancholy in her suddenly that made her chest tighten in empathy. "Did he love her very much?"

"That you would have to ask him," the Dwarf replied. "I know they had their moments, and they spent more time apart than together. The child finally brought them together in the end, but then it was too late I think."

"They had a child together? I had heard Witchers were infertile."

"Aye, as far as anyone knows they are - sorceresses, too. But no, the child was... adopted you could say. A special girl, too. If it hadn't been for her, Geralt would be dead as well."

"How did his lover die?" she asked, and Zoltan gestured towards the bard so she stopped to listen to the end of the song.

Dandelion sang of a fierce battle in which the hero was mortally wounded, and his beautiful sorceress lover died attempting to save his life, so the young girl that had been like a daughter to them spirited their bodies away to another plane where she sacrificed herself to revive the Witcher and send him back. Only she returned him to the mortal plane without his memories so that he wouldn't feel the grief of losing his love.

When the song ended, Zoltan said, "His most famous song is about the girl, actually.  _The Lion Cub of Cintra,_ it's called. He hardly plays it anymore, though, since she died... usually only upon request."

Solona had to take a moment to regain her composure at the end of the song.  _I almost forgot how maudlin I get when I drink,_  she thought, and pushed her tankard away for the time being.

Solona said, "In the song, it sounded like two women sacrificed themselves for him, was that part true?"

"Ah, well, the exact details are… ah... open to interpretation," Zoltan said. "Dandelion wasn't there for the resurrection itself. His information comes from another source. It seems he has some mysterious muse that fills in the blanks for him. She comes to him in dreams, he says," Zoltan snorted at the idea and took a swig of his ale.

Realizing that his tankard was dry he signaled a serving girl to refill their drinks, ordering them supper as well. At the sound of the word "supper," Lusa popped his head above the table, jostling everything atop it.

"Bring a serving for the pup as well," he said to the serving girl, whose eyes became as big as platters upon seeing the beast that had arisen from beneath their table. Lusa panted at the girl amiably as she scurried off to put in their order and refill their ale.

"Anyway," Zoltan continued, "according to Dandelion's muse, Geralt was saved for something bigger. The girl he had helped raise was apparently a prophetess and knew he needed to live to fulfill some higher calling. No explicit details, though... Prophets can be assholes that way."

Solona laughed softly and said, "Not to mention sending him back with amnesia. Is that part true?"

"Aye," Zoltan said. "We all thought he was dead after the massacre in Rivia. Then one day they found his body, still mostly alive, and carried him back to Kaer Morhen. He still hasn't recovered all his memories, though. Sometimes I think that might have been a blessing, but still... to lose your past must feel like losing your entire identity."

Solona nodded. There were certainly things she would prefer to forget, but there were too many good memories that she thought she would feel lost without.

Their refills and dinner came, along with a large platter of what looked more like an offering to a vengeful god than a mere meal, which was laid before Lusa who dove into it with abandon.

"Is Kaer Morhen his home, then?" she asked between bites.

Zoltan replied, "Aye as much as Witchers can be said to have a home since they mostly travel the countryside killing monsters. They spend their winters there."

"Have you ever been there?" Solona asked.

He gave her a calculating look before he responded. "What is it you're after with the Witcher if you don't mind my asking."

Realizing she'd finally hit the limit of his capacity to share, she set down her fork and stared at her plate for several seconds trying to decide how to phrase her answer.

"You spoke of something greater he was meant for... Saved through the sacrifice of two women who cared for him deeply."

Zoltan nodded and said, "If you believe the songs, aye."

"Do you believe them?" she asked, "and do you believe in Dandelion's  _muse_?"

The dwarf took a swallow of ale and gazed at her steadily for a second. Grudgingly he finally admitted with a terse nod, "Aye. I've seen too much of it not to."

Solona took a deep breath and continued, "I have a muse of a sort as well, who sent me to find him. He and I have a common purpose. I need to find him before I can continue with my mission. I realize you are his friend and as such are obligated to protect him, but I don't mean him any harm, if that's what you're concerned about. Not only does he have information I need, I need  _him_. If you can tell me how to find him I would be in your debt."

Zoltan nodded, seeming to come to a decision. "I don't know where he is now... just that he is on his way to Kaer Morhen for the winter. I can bring you maps in the morning."

She nodded her thanks and continued eating for a few minutes. After a while she looked up at the dwarf and said, "Zoltan, I truly appreciate your help but I have to ask, why did you trust me with what you've told me? You do seem very protective of him... The Witcher, I mean. And you only just met me today."

He smiled at her, and said, "I have many talents, but one I'm sure of is that I'm a good judge of character. After seeing what you did today in that alley I'm really not the least bit surprised that you're here because you're trying to find him. And, if I know Geralt, he no doubt would want to be found by a woman like you."  _As matter of fact it's due time she found him,_  Zoltan thought as he looked at her appraisingly _._

Their conversation lulled for a time and they contented themselves with their meal and the music, and another round of ale after they drained the ones they'd been served with supper. Solona became increasingly enraptured with the music the more she drank, and more enraptured with the musician as well.  _He is pretty_ , she decided after finally taking a moment to observe him fully. His music seemed to remind her of pleasant but bittersweet memories of the years just before she had been taken to the Circle. He sang with his eyes closed for most of the ballads but occasionally he would glance her way and give her a slight smile, which she returned with increasing intensity as the night wore on.

Much later in the evening a majority of the audience had filtered out leaving behind only the most loyal, or drunk, patrons behind. Dandelion ended his show with a rowdy sing-along that had everyone up dancing and clapping in time. Lusa even roused himself after his meal had left him nearly comatose for most of the evening, and took up singing along, to the delight of Dandelion's other fans. When the song was finally finished, Dandelion said goodbyes to adoring fans, and graciously declined the obvious advances of a few women who seemed to give Solona the evil eye as they passed by her on their way out the door.

Dandelion spoke softly to a serving girl, then sat down at their table with a big grin, "I'd say tonight was a great success, thanks to you in no small part," he said, looking at Solona.

"What would I have to do with it?" she asked, perplexed.

He grinned at her. "Why, an exotically beautiful new face who shows up at the tavern with the famous troubadour... and that  _exquisite_  dress..." he said, his gaze lingering on her bosom. "Rumors travel fast in Vizima. By the end of the evening it was standing room only... I don't know if you noticed."

She hadn't, actually, being so enthralled with his performance.

He continued, "I think most of the later arrivals were here to see  _you_ more than they were here to see me. Curious about what special girl had stolen the troubadour's heart, no doubt," he said, smiling at her alluringly. "I couldn't have planned it better myself," he said, clearly pleased with the outcome.

"I'm glad to have helped, inadvertent as it was," she said, amused and fully aware that he was attempting to seduce her with his fame. She decided she would just enjoy it and see where it led.

She said, "If I had known I was the real entertainment for the evening I would have attempted to put on a better show."

"Nonsense!" Dandelion said. "You were perfect." He grinned at her and leaned towards her, giving her a lingering kiss on the cheek.

Dandelion's supper arrived, along with another round of ale for the table. Zoltan took his leave – and his ale – with the excuse that the dice wouldn't wait forever, and walked off to the other side of the room with his new best friend Lusa beside him.

Dandelion leaned towards her slightly and asked with a charming smile, "So, what did you think? Are you an unabashed fan now?"

She leaned her chin on her palm and said, with a coquettish look, "I could listen to you sing all night." She thought she could see a swell of pride in him, but it went away the second she said, "But I have to ask, are all your songs about the Witcher?"

"No, not all of them... just the most popular ones," he said evasively as he dove into his meal.

"Your songs are truly beautiful," she said. "I don't think I've ever heard anything like them before. I would love to hear one of your other songs... that isn't about the Witcher, if you cared to share."

He looked up and gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment, laying his fork aside and pushing his nearly empty plate away from him. He took a long swallow of his ale and then picked up his lute with a gleam in his eye.

"As a matter of fact, I've been working on something new and I think you're just the person to hear it for the first time."

He started to play. The music was energetic and the lyrics were expansive. It sounded like a heroic song of war and battle, until she started listening more closely and the events began sounding all too familiar to her.

_He's singing about_ _ me _ _… about my quest to end the Blight in Ferelden. How does he know all that?_

She grew very quiet and when he finished it he looked at her and said with a dejected tone, "You don't like it... well there is one other that goes along with it that you might like better."

And he played a love song, that was absolutely beautiful... and clearly based on her relationship with Alistair. And just  _hearing_  about it portrayed in that way made her suddenly long for the former templar,  _why the hell did I leave? He loved me!_  But she knew why and she knew now more than ever that she needed to put all of that behind her if she was going to succeed at this. She thought it must be some cruel joke that Dandelion would have written  _these_  songs and had played them just for her.

She sat gazing into her ale for awhile and when she looked up finally a couple minutes after the second song had ended, Dandelion was sitting across from her with a very concerned expression, still idly strumming random tunes on his lute.

"I'm sorry," she said, truly apologetic, "those songs were beautiful... they just brought back some rough memories for me."

Dandelion set his lute aside and scooted his chair closer to hers. "Anything you feel like talking about? I'm a fantastic listener."

She laughed softly, "I'm sure you are... " she hesitated for a moment then continued, "Dandelion, this might sound odd, but I need to know where you heard those stories that you just sang of."

"Um, well, it's hard to say  _precisely_ ," he said, sounding evasive. "I have several sources for material..."

"Zoltan said earlier that you have a special muse. Is that where these songs came from?"

The bard shot a dark look over at the dwarf on the other side of the room and then turned back to her.

"Ah, yes," he nodded. "My muse... she is a veritable font of stories but it seems like they're rather  _focused_  on specific events or people. Hence most of my songs being about Geralt. But these new ones are special, I think," he sounded excited. "Finally I get to write songs that are about someone  _new_. It's refreshing, really. I just wish I knew the subject."

She wondered for a moment whether or not she should tell him, and finally decided things might become more complicated than she needed right now if she did, and she really wasn't sure if she wanted to deal with the emotional turmoil that would undoubtedly accompany any explanation. She still felt pretty raw just from hearing the songs. Music always seemed to do that to her.

"I think I'll head to bed," she said, downing the last swallow of her ale and standing up.

The bard hopped up and held out his arm. "The least I can do is walk the lady to her door," he said with an entirely too handsome smile as far as she was concerned. She took his arm, glancing back to see Lusa attentively watching Zoltan's dice game across the room. He would be fine with the dwarf for the evening.

The bard escorted her up the flight of stairs and down the hallway to her door. When they stopped there, he hesitated, uncertain whether he should pursue his attraction further. But she had seemed emotionally fragile when he'd played those songs for her and he didn't like taking advantage of women in that kind of state. Finally he just gave her a chaste peck on the cheek, said, "Sweet dreams," and then turned to go. As he was about to walk away, he felt her grab his hand and pull him back, saying softly, "Wait."

When he came back she saw the look of eager, hopeful lust in his eyes that managed to set her fire burning, at the same time turning to ashes any residual regret that had been lingering inside. His embrace was gentle,  _too gentle_ , but his kiss was fierce and wanton. She turned and pushed him gently against her door, leaning against him, their kiss lingering. His fingers gripped her hips but he seemed hesitant to move them lower or higher, so she reached down and grabbed each hand in hers, twining her fingers through his and pushing them into the door up above his head where she held them there with a sly smile on her face.

With the weight of her torso against his, she could feel his response to her easily and ground her hips into his, eliciting a soft moan from him that made her smile. She leaned in and kissed him again, slowly, savoring the newness of the flavors and sensations of his mouth under hers.

Without warning, she reached behind him and unlatched her door, their combined weight causing it to open abruptly. He lost his balance briefly and she emitted a mischievous giggle, but he regained his feet inside her darkened room and she followed him in, closing the door behind her and turning around to secure the lock. She felt him ease up behind her in the dark as she threw the latch, his hot breath on her neck making her quiver, his lips barely brushing the skin of her neck. His hands came around her waist and slid up slowly, pausing just at the tops of her breasts. She felt the subtle pull of fabric as he began to slowly undo her buttons, starting at the top and working his way down. He continued nuzzling her neck as he worked on her buttons, and then she felt one of his large, gentle hands slide inside her bodice and tenderly cup one breast, his deft fingers caressing her nipple slightly, making her breath quicken and causing heat to spread between her thighs.

He turned her around, pressing her back against the door. He kissed her roughly on the mouth and bent to flick his tongue over the tip of one exposed breast, then bent deeper, planting both knees on the floor. She felt his hands slide under her skirt and up the backs of her thighs in the dark, then back around to her hips, sliding up until he grasped the waistband of her smallclothes and pulled them down gently.

"Boots..." she said to him softly.

He stopped what he was doing to obey her brief command, blindly but expertly unlacing each of her high leather boots and pulling them off her feet. Her stockings followed, and then her smallclothes. He ran his hands up her naked thighs under her dress once more for good measure, gripping her bottom gently when he reached the top, and then he pushed her skirt up, exposing the true prize he had been after all along.

He stopped what he was doing suddenly and she felt her skirt drop as he moved away from her and started fumbling somewhere else in the room.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, then thought,  _why am I whispering?_  She conjured a small flame in her palm to illuminate the room and saw him pawing at a table nearby.

He blinked at her and said, embarrassed, "I wanted a light so I could  _look_  at you. It's hard to write songs about things if you can't actually  _see_  them, youknow."

She made a faint gesture towards one of the lanterns nearby and the wick lit brightly, then she did the same to the others in the room.

"All you had to do was ask," she said, smiling at him and moving barefooted towards the elaborately canopied bed in the center of the room.

"This is really your room?" he asked, looking around and clearly impressed. "I don't think I've ever seen this room... I think they only hold it for kings and whatnot. How did you get it?"

Perplexed at his question she answered, "I paid for it?"

 _Fascinating woman,_  Dandelion thought.  _Maybe tomorrow I'll have to find out her story and write a song about it. But tonight there are_ much _more important things to worry about._ She had just finished unbuttoning the last button of her dress and it was sliding down her soft, white shoulders to the floor, leaving her milky skin utterly bare and gleaming in the lantern light. She was leaning back against the high bed with a smile on her face as he came towards her.  _She looks like she needs to be kissed,_  he thought,  _among other things,_ his lust rising harsh and fast.

When he reached her he gave her another deep, lingering kiss and then sank to his knees before her, sliding his hands softly up the outside of her thighs, then back down. Red-gold curls and pale flesh were all he saw as he leaned in to get closer acquainted. Almost unconsciously he urged one of her legs up to his shoulder, resting her foot there and finally exposing her delicate pink flesh. He gazed in reverence for a moment, then reached out his fingers with an expert touch and caressed her gently, feeling her wetness behind the glistening ruff. She moaned softly. He looked up to see her face and met eyes that seemed to plead with him. Holding her gaze, he flicked his tongue out, slipping it between her petal-soft folds. Her low moan of ecstasy encouraged him to continue, so he closed his eyes in enjoyment and took another taste. He heard another soft groan and realized it was coming from his own throat,  _I might come just tasting her_ , he though. He was determined to remain focused, however, and slid his hands back up to her bottom, lifting her up onto the bed.

When he stood he felt her legs wrap around his hips and pull him towards her.

She said softly, "You're wearing  _way_  too many clothes," and started unlacing his breeches. He silently agreed with her and worked to rectify the problem as quickly as possible.

A moment later he was naked, his clothing in a puddle on the carpet beneath him.

She looked up at him with a strange expression and said, "Are you keeping that on?" pointing towards his head and the plumed hat that sat atop it.

He'd forgotten about the hat completely, so in an effort to maintain his dignity he smiled at her as seductively as possible and said, slyly, "Of course I am. The plume is the source of all my powers. Just wait and I'll prove it to you."

This elicited a low laugh from her which caused his cock to twitch. He moved towards her again and she began to crawl slowly backwards up the bed to the mountain of overstuffed pillows at the top, which she unceremoniously punched to the floor. He followed her, climbing onto the bed in nothing but his plumed hat and crawling towards her on hands and knees.

From his vantage point he had the most exquisite view of her from top to  _bottom_. He decided that he would work his way up and taste every inch of her on the way,  _and maybe take an extra long tour in the middle._  His plan backfired quickly when he realized that her feet were  _extremely_  ticklish, but once he started moving higher, the responses were less uncontrollable giggling and more " _ooh, that's nice..."_ and " _oh, don't stop."_  He didn't stop.

After what felt like eons he finally made it back to his original goal between her thighs. He heard her moan softly as he spread her apart for easier access and felt her dig her fingers into the curls at the back of his neck, holding him close to her core where his expert tongue began its work. He laughed softly in response to her urging, "don't stop!" then continued in earnest. It lasted for several minutes but all too quickly she was urging him to stop. He sat back on his heels and looked at her.  _Beautiful and deadly. What a fantastic combination for a song_ , he thought, his eyes grazing the large scar that graced her breast. The sound of her voice drew his eyes back to hers when she said, "I need you to fuck me. Now."

He happily obliged, moving to cover her body with his own. When he drew close, she wrapped one arm around his shoulders and hooked a leg behind one thigh. Before he had a chance to think she had him on his back, knocking his hat askew. She straddled his waist, a mischievous gleam in her eyes, and picked up the hat, placing it on her own head. He grinned up at her in amusement.

"Now we'll see who has the power," she said, her mouth turned up at one corner.

As if to illustrate her power, she glanced around the room briefly and waved a hand in a small circular motion in the air. All but the nearest of the lanterns were extinguished, leaving them in a dim, sultry light. She slid her hands slowly up his chest emitting small crackles of electricity through the dusting of soft, dark hair that covered it, and then leaned down to kiss him on the lips, her nipples barely brushing his chest. With one hand she reached between them, gently grasped his hard length and guided him into her. He groaned softly against her mouth, raising his hips up to meet her. All coherent thought left them both as they gave themselves over to desire.

* * *

She awoke to a cold, grey morning and felt the solid weight and warmth of Dandelion's body next to her, still asleep with one arm draped over her torso. She turned sleepily to look at him and saw he was still just as pretty in the light of the grey day as he had been the evening before after several pints of ale. There was a small wrenching in her gut when she thought about how much he reminded her of Alistair. Alistair and Zevran both, really. He had a combination of the former templar's looks and wit and the assassin's deft skill as a lover. She hadn't thought of Zevran since she left Ferelden, but the memory of their one night together rose prominently in her mind as she watched Dandelion sleep.

She and Alistair had been skirting around their feelings for some time already. When they returned from the Frostback Mountains with the Ashes of Andraste Alistair had seemed particularly distant for some reason she still didn't understand. That evening after supper she had presented Zevran with the Antivan leather boots she'd found in Haven and they had gotten to talking... about their mission, about his life as a Crow, about  _other_ things. She still wasn't quite sure whether he had been actively trying to seduce her or if one thing had just led to another. Either way, it had been by far one of the most fantastic nights of sex in her life, including the taint-infused lustful romps she and Alistair had made a habit of once he finally took control of things.  _Which wasn't that long after Zevran, now that I think of it._

 _He certainly knew his way around a woman's body_ , she thought, looking at the sleeping bard, and felt the telltale heat start rising in her. She watched him sleep for a moment longer, then slid one hand slowly under the blankets between his thighs, stroking him gently. His flesh responded almost instantly to her touch, which made her smile. She heard him moan softly in his sleep. Once he felt sufficiently erect, she gently pulled the blankets away from his waist and mounted him, slowly guiding him into her ready warmth as she had the evening before, but rather than fucking him with energetic abandon as she had the first time, she took her time, moving slowly and languidly, watching his gradual awakening beneath her. After a few minutes she saw his brows crease and his hands moved up to touch her thighs, as though searching to determine whether he was experiencing phantom sensations or real ones. His fingers found solid flesh and gripped her thighs tightly. At the same time, she saw his creased brow relax and a slow smile spread across his face.

His eyes opened into narrow slits as his hips rose up to meet her rhythm. "Good morning," he murmured sleepily and was met by a lusty smile from her. Needing to feel more of her, he braced himself with his feet and sat up, wrapping his arms around her torso, nuzzling her breasts when he reached them. She twined her fingers into his hair and moaned softly at the feel of his mouth on her skin, trailing kisses from her chest up her throat.  _This was just the distraction I needed,_ she thought, bending her head to kiss his upturned mouth.

They continued the slow, deliberate fucking, speeding up only when they were approaching climax. She heard the rain start amidst a crash of thunder when she felt him come and she followed shortly after.


	7. A Good Day for Traveling

After Dandelion dressed and gave her a passionate farewell kiss, she packed up and went down to the tavern. She found Lusa sprawled under a table and Zoltan polishing off a plate of breakfast, using the dog as a foot rest and passing him bits of bacon. "You've spoiled him... I doubt he'll be good for anything on the road after this," she said, smiling.

Zoltan chuckled softly and said, "I could say the same to you. Dandelion just left looking rather dazzled and singing some song about a 'dangerous beauty.' He left his lute behind..." he gestured at the delicately tooled instrument on the table nearby. "He treasures that instrument more than life. Whatever you did to him addled his brain somehow."

She glanced away from his gaze as she set her bags down by the table and shrugged, saying, "Just blowing off some steam. A girl has needs, youknow." He chuckled again and shook his head, thinking, ' _Needs', eh? Geralt will get along fantastically with this one._

She turned her gaze to the pile of rolled parchment next to the dwarf and pointed, "Are those the maps?"

"Aye," he said, setting his plate on the floor for Lusa to lick clean. He picked up one of the maps and unrolled it on the table between them, setting his tankard at one corner to hold the curling paper flat.

"Geralt was here in Vizima about two weeks ago," he said, pointing to a spot near the center of the map. "He'll be stopping in villages and towns on the way, looking for contracts, so you should be able to catch up to him fairly easily."

With his index finger he traced the route from Vizima, north across a thick line labeled  _Pontar River_ that bisected the map, east along the northern bank of the river, and then north into the mountains. He tapped his finger on a couple spots along the route, and said, "Here are the best towns to stop in, that have the best contracts. If you don't catch him on the road he'll likely be in one of these places. He'll either be in the tavern or the whorehouse." He glanced up at her expecting the second part to shock her at least a little.

She raised her eyebrows at him, unphased, "Tavern or whorehouse. Got it," she said. "Anything else you can tell me?"

"Just be careful. The countryside can be a treacherous place," he said.

She nodded, "I can handle myself in a fight if necessary, and so can Lusa."

"It's a nasty day for traveling," he said, "are you sure you won't stay until the weather clears?"

She shook her head and stood up, gathering her things and thanking Zoltan for the maps. "I need to get moving if he's already two weeks ahead of me," she said. She was anxious to continue her journey. Aside from her few years sequestered at the Circle, she'd moved around frequently for her entire life and got antsy when she stayed in one place for more than a day anymore. She drew a long, reddish-black leather cloak out of her bags and threw it around her shoulders, clasping it at the neck and drawing the hood up over her head to protect her from the weather. She slung her bags over her shoulders and took up her staff in one hand.

"Farewell, Zoltan. And thank you for everything," she said and walked out the door into the pouring rain.


	8. The Witcher

The fight had reached a head. The Witcher had the creature cornered and was ready to take the final blow when all hell broke loose around him. Suddenly there were half a dozen smaller versions of the creature around him, hissing and shaking their spines at him. He realized with a sinking feeling that the creature he had been fighting was the queen, and all her minions had just popped out of the shadows at her call and had him nearly surrounded. His gaze darted around looking for a way to run if it should come to that. At the same time, he caught a glimpse of a dark, hooded figure on the outskirts of the clearing.

He took a deep breath and rallied. If he was going to survive he needed to focus. He knew that killing the queen would weaken the smaller creatures, but he just wasn't sure if it would be enough, considering their number. Plus he was still nursing a nasty scratch he'd gotten from a harpy queen two days earlier. If he had been smart he would have taken an extra day to recover from that before taking another contract, but he needed the money. He decided to take the chance. If he could take out the whole nest, it would mean a bigger bounty.

His empty right hand aimed at the ground, he made the quick subtle motions with his fingers required to cast a Quen sign. A shimmering translucent shield rose up around him bolstering his defenses. Then, blocking out all other distractions, he focused on the creature poised before him, spines quivering. He did a quick feint to one side with his silver sword, spun around towards the creature's side, and vaulted sideways over the creature's back in one smooth movement, then quickly cast the Igni sign at the confused creature. It to burst into flames and let out a blood curdling shriek that sounded nearly human, tiny spines shooting out from its hide in every direction. Luckily most of the spines bounced off his shield. He finished off the creature with a sword through its heart, but with a sinking feeling heard the clearing around him erupt in a cacophony of high pitched screams from the creature's brood. Too late he realized he had little energy left for another defensive sign. He quickly grabbed his last Dragon's Dream from his pocket and chucked it into the center of the group. A cloud of flammable gas erupted around them, which he ignited with an Igni sign and a quick flick of his wrist. As his shield dropped, he heard the mysterious figure he'd glimpsed earlier cry out in alarm. Then he felt what must have been hundreds of quills hitting him in the same instant from the opposite side of the clearing behind him. There had been two sets of the younger creatures. He had missed the other group entirely.

This was very bad. Theirs was a slow acting poison, but he knew he had little time with the number of tiny barbs that had just embedded themselves in his skin. His sight blurred and telltale red spots began to appear in his field of vision that warned him of the near fatal dose of toxins in his blood. He thought he felt a quill in his left temple which he reached up to remove, and there were definitely a couple that had penetrated the tiny gaps in the lightweight chainmail that covered his upper arms, and he was aware of an increasing tingling in his legs as he struggled to stay conscious long enough to get out. His armor should have protected him from some of the attack, but the spines were small and sharp enough to pierce through most light armor, and the youngsters tended to have little control over how many of their spines were released when they reacted to an attack. The only advantage he had right now was that the creatures were defenseless without their tiny weapons and were not likely to attack him directly as long as he seemed to pose a threat. But the damage had already been done, and they would just clean his bones when he died.

He stumbled forward through the clearing, swaying like a drunkard and trying to pull spines out as he went. He had a brief irrational recollection of a night in the Flotsam tavern two years prior with Dandelion, Zoltan, and Triss. The group had stayed up until the early hours drinking and reminiscing and had stumbled off their separate ways afterward in much the same fashion he was stumbling now. It occurred to him that the night in Flotsam may have been the last place the four of them were together when none of them were in grave danger.

The clearing seemed to simultaneously grow larger and to close in on him - how far away had he tethered his horse? He had to reach his pack and see if he had some kind of antidote that might at least keep him alive until he could reach a healer. He shook his head trying to clear it of the poison's effects, but it was no use. Suddenly he was losing traction as the world tilted out from under him and he saw the mossy ground rush up to meet his face. He didn't even have enough control over his reflexes to stop the fall, but he felt nothing when he hit the ground. As his awareness began to falter, he heard a yell and felt a burst of hot air from somewhere behind him, and more of those awful creatures' screams. Shortly after, he heard a sharply accented female voice in his ear urging him to stay awake, stay with her, and he heard a dog bark. Then his world faded into darkness.

_He was inside a dark, torch-lit grotto, soaking in a huge pool with Triss and a beautiful dark-haired woman he'd come to understand must be Yennefer, a remnant of his lost memories that seeped through in dreams, a memory he had yet to maintain a grasp of during his waking hours. The women murmured softly to each other just out of his reach. As he watched, the dark-haired woman's image began to flicker, her features shifting, her hair becoming paler as it gradually turned milky white and her face transforming into something different, but no less beautiful. The figure of Triss faded slowly into the darkness leaving only the white-haired beauty behind, reaching out to him invitingly. She was mouthing words that became the faint murmur of a breeze echoing through the grotto, "Stay with me." He tried to move towards her through the water, but the closer he got the more resistance he felt, like the liquid was thickening around him. He looked to the other side of the pool and watched in despair as the woman sank beneath the surface. He tried to move again only to discover that he was trapped, as though in solid ice even though the water still rippled and shimmered around him with reflected torchlight. He felt a frigid cold deep in his soul and tried to cry out but something deep below the surface drew him under._


	9. The Healer

About a week after starting north from Vizima and crossing the Pontar river, Solona saw a horse tethered at the side of the road. The horse, grazing idly on roadside weeds, was heavy with travelling gear, including a pair of scabbards on one side of the saddle, one of which held a large sword, the other empty. She felt a small vibration at her throat and glanced down at her amulet in alarm. She lifted it and looked at it curiously. The outline of the etched figure of the wolf was glowing brightly.  _That's odd,_  she thought,  _its never done that before._ Realizing that this couldn't be a coincidence, she dismounted to see if she could find the rider of the other horse.

"Lusa, can you hear if anyone is nearby?" she asked her furry companion.

He woofed a soft affirmative back to her and trotted a short way into the woods, pausing and turning back towards her.

She followed slowly, careful not to disturb the underbrush. After several steps she began to hear the sounds of a fight, and what she finally saw through the trees nearly left her breathless. She was at the edge of a large clearing covered in moss and brambles, and on the far side there was a white-haired man with a silver sword in a fierce battle against some kind of strange creature she'd never seen before. The way he fought was mesmerizing to her. She was not adept with a sword, but was familiar enough with swordfighting styles to recognize that this man was a master. His style was akin to a dance. Every feint or dodge would effortlessly transition into an offensive attack so fast that she could barely even follow, and neither could his opponent. She stood transfixed, watching him, and realized that from the descriptions she'd had of him thus far this must be the White Wolf. She was so enthralled that she barely noticed the addition of several smaller versions of the creature he fought creeping into the clearing.

She watched transfixed as he finished off the creature he had cornered, but came to her senses suddenly when the air was filled with the screaming cries of the creature's young. She realized that the man was cornered and outnumbered, and the magical shield he'd erected had fallen away. He recovered quickly, however, tossing a small bomb at the group of creatures, destroying them all in a flash of fire, but then she caught sight of another large group of them on the other side of him.

She cried out a warning and started running towards him, but with a surge of dread realized that she was too far to reach him in time. The second group of creatures screamed as tiny spines shot out from their hides in all directions, hundreds of them piercing his leather armor. She ducked instinctively to avoid any strays and heard him bellow a loud curse as the spines hit him, then he turned back in her direction, trying to escape. He appeared dazed as he began to approach her and his steps started to falter as he stumbled along drunkenly. He paused a moment, and shook his head as if trying to clear his vision, took a couple more staggering steps, then toppled forward as though some invisible lumberjack had just taken the felling blow with an axe. There was a loud thud as he hit the ground just as she reached him. In range of the creatures now, she quickly cast a fireball into the center of their clustered group, incinerating them all in one shot.

She cringed at the terrible screams that filled the clearing for the moment it took the creatures to die. Then knelt down by the man's side.

"Witcher! Stay awake! Stay with me!" she urged as she began quickly extracting spines from him.

There were dozens of them sticking out of every inch of his armor on one side, so sharp that most of them had pierced clean through and were embedded in his skin. She sniffed at the tip of one to see if she could discern what type of poison it was. Nerve poison most likely. When she finished pulling out and discarding all the poison spines she quickly laid two fingers on the side of his throat looking for a pulse. It was fast and faint - not a good sign. He had so many tiny wounds, and the poison now coursing through his system would make it very difficult to effectively heal him. She needed to be able to extract the poison that she knew was already seeping its way gradually throughout his body. Frantic for a moment, she tried to remember what she had learned about poisons in her healing studies at the Circle. She remembered one remedy - a lyrium bath - that was recommended for high fevers or other afflictions that affected a person bodily. She knew it was her best chance at saving him, but she needed to get to an inn as quickly as possible. She stepped around behind him and grasped him under his arms, and with all her effort she dragged his leaden body back through the woods to the horses. She searched through her saddlebags for a length of rope to secure him to his horse. Summoning strength she wasn't sure she possessed she managed to lift him up and sling him across his horse's back, belly down. She secured him as best she could with the ropes. As an afterthought she quickly ran back to the clearing to retrieve the glinting silver sword near where the man had fallen and replaced it in its scabbard on his saddle. Then, holding the other horse's reins, she mounted her own horse and urged both horses into a brisk canter, glancing back periodically to be sure he was still secure.

Before she and Lusa had broken camp that morning she had studied her maps and was fairly certain there was an inn no more than a few miles from where they were. After what seemed an eternity of careful stop and go with the horses, once having to dismount and re-secure his bindings, she finally saw smoke tendrils rising from a large chimney over the next hill. She urged the horses into a brisk trot again to reach it. As she crested the hill she caught sight of the large, sprawling stone building with a neat row of dormers, and stables off to one side. She hailed the stables with a yell and two young stablehands popped into view, gaping at her as she rode into the yard.

"What are your names?" she asked as she dismounted and began grabbing the gear she would need.

"I'm Caleb and he's Aubry," one boy replied.

"Hello, Caleb. Hurry and help me untie this man and get him inside," she said to the boy who spoke, gesturing at the body still draped over the horse.

To the other stablehand she said, "Aubry, please see to the horses, and then bring all our gear as quickly as you can. There's an oren for you if nothing is missing when you bring it."

Giving her a mildly insulted look, Aubry replied, in a serious tone, "Aye, milady. I will see to it."

Slinging her small pack of essentials over her shoulder, she began to hurriedly finish untying the Witcher's bindings, then with Caleb's help, gently slid him off the horse between them.

"Oof, he's a heavy one," the boy stated. "He's that Witcher, ain't he? I thought them was mighty monster hunters - he don't look so mighty now."

"Even the mightiest can be outnumbered sometimes," she replied, with a sideways glance. "We need to get him to a room quickly so I can help him."

"We have the nicest rooms in Kaedwen," the boy said, puffing out his chest proudly.

"Is this your inn, then?" she asked as they shuffled towards the inn under their heavy burden.

"Aye," he said, then amended, "Well, it's my Da's - he's Bernard, like on the sign there," he gestured with his chin towards a brightly painted sign hanging over the door to the inn, which proclaimed "Bernard's Inn and Tavern" in large swirly text.

She quickly arranged with the innkeeper for a room and a hot bath to be brought up immediately. By the time they made it to the room on the second floor, Aubry had caught up to them with the gear from the horses, with Lusa loping along at his heels. The room was rustic but comfortable, with a large bed on the far side near the windows, opposite a large stone fireplace, and an alcove just inside the door that contained a huge stone tub and next to it a small bench with a lid that was clearly the privy. There were large, cloth covered screens that separated each area of the room and provided privacy from the entrance. They lowered the Witcher's heavy form across the bed and she gestured to the corner for Aubry to leave their belongings. In the background she could hear several maids filling the bath from large pails, then one went to start a fire in the hearth. She handed Aubry his promised fee and thanked him, then turned to the other boy.

"Caleb, I need your help getting him into the bath before you go."

"Uh... a bath, milady? Oughtn't we to send for a healer to tend to him first?"

"I AM a healer," she replied emphatically, "and if I don't get him into this bath and start healing him soon, he may very well die! So please help me get him undressed and into the water, quickly."

Shrugging his shoulders, the boy complied, stooping down to pull off the Witcher's boots while Solona quickly unfastened the buckles on his heavy leather vest. As they lowered the still unconscious naked form into the steaming water, she could see large, angry red welts covering most of his body. She expressed her thanks to Caleb with another oren tip and he left, closing the door behind him.

She grabbed her small pack and pulled out her meager supply of lyrium. She closed her eyes and muttered a few words in prayer before she emptied the last of her lyrium into the water, then swirled it around with one hand. She glanced up in alarm as the Witcher's inanimate form began to list to one side and gradually slide down into the water. Cursing, she quickly grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to hoist him back up. This wouldn't do. She couldn't keep him from drowning and heal him at the same time. She quickly stripped out of her clothing. Holding him slightly forward by the shoulders, she slid down into the water behind him, finally coming to rest with his head heavy against her chest. She slid one arm around his torso to secure him safely from falling beneath the surface.

With her free hand she began to work on the multitude of stings, humming a simple incantation like a mantra, and pushing her healing power into the water. The lyrium mixed into the bath began to emanate a faint blue glow as it channeled the healing spell she was casting and started leeching the poison from the tiny punctures throughout his body. She worked like this for an hour until the water started to grow tepid. When she started feeling a chill, she switched her focus briefly and a bright orange glow appeared in her hand beneath the water, the subtle fire spell warming the water back up to a comfortable temperature. She checked his pulse and found that it was slower and stronger and she let out a sigh of relief. "I knew I hadn't lost you yet, Witcher. Come back to me."

Looking down at the pale, sturdy form in the water she noticed a bandage wrapped around his right bicep, spots of dried blood showing through. She unwrapped it gently and saw a set of deep, angry gashes underneath, and drew her hand across them, healing them neatly in one stroke. He looked much younger now that she had a close look at him. His white hair had given the impression of an old, but very agile, man at first, but upon inspection she saw that his face was mostly unlined by age, but had a few scars, the most obvious mark was one angry scar gracing it from forehead to cheek on the left side. His body was tightly muscled - and covered in a web of scars as detailed as the maps she had followed to find him. She wondered what stories his scars could tell, if they could speak to her now. She, too, had scars and stories to accompany them, though the worst of her scars were not visible on her skin. She only hoped that he would at least be willing to hear her story and her reason for seeking out his help, and that he would indeed have the answers that the dryad queen had implied he would have.

She resumed her healing spell for a while longer until she was comfortable that he was safe from the poison. She checked his pulse again, then warmed the water once more. She finally rested her head back against the wall behind her, exhausted. There was nothing to do now but wait and hope he awakened soon. She stared distractedly at the lit candle at the end of the tub, her mind wandering, hopping through all the events that had led her here. The warmth of the tub and the heavy weight against her provided an odd comfort that she hadn't felt in a very long time. Her eyelids began to droop and she drifted off to sleep, her arm still clutched around his bare chest.

_She was standing on a cliff on a high mountain, snow swirling around her in the cold light of a full moon. She heard the eerie cries of dragons, mingled with the howl of a wolf. She knew there was a high dragon nearby, but this sounded like there were two of them calling back and forth to each other. She turned to walk up the path to a temple that stood on the peak above her. She passed through the doors into a sanctuary where there was a large stone altar surrounded by seven braziers. On the altar sat a large white wolf regarding her silently. He rose from the altar and ambled down to her, sniffed at her hand, then loped out the open door. She followed him out and stood frozen in place as his howl pierced the night, calling out to unseen allies. A moment later two high dragons landed in the clearing around them and answered the wolf, their voices trumpeting eerily in the snowy night._


	10. The Bath

As the thick blackness began to recede from his consciousness he found himself in another dream.

_He was on a mountaintop, in a large clearing outside a ruined temple. It was near dusk and there were sparse snow flurries blowing in the air around him. He felt the frigid wind blowing his hair, whipping strands across his face as he viewed his surroundings._

_He caught a flicker of white movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see a large white wolf watching him from atop the stump of a broken pillar._ _The animal leaped down and loped over to him, licked his hand, then turned its head towards the sky._

_The wolf let loose a fierce howl up into the heavens._

_A moment later he heard a trumpeting reply and heard the buffet of large wings coming nearer to where he stood beside the wolf. An immense white dragon came into view, and landed in the clearing facing him. The dragon regarded him from a distance with its large golden eyes, then moved closer, craning its neck down to peer at him from beneath its horned brow._

_He could feel the heat of its breath on his skin. A large gout of white flame shot forth from its mouth, cocooning him in heat, but he wasn't burned. Instead the fire simply warmed him and seemed to awaken all his senses. He reached out a hand to touch the beast that stood before him (_ not a beast - she is something more, and magnificent _)._

_The dragon closed its eyes as he stroked its jaw, its hot breath ruffling his hair. Then it stretched its head to the sky and trumpeted loudly, the wolf next to him adding its own howling voice to the dragon's in an eerily beautiful song that echoed across the mountain tops._

Warmth began to seep back into him gradually as he regained consciousness. He opened his eyes a crack and found himself in water.

Was he still dreaming?

Disconcerted, he looked around, opening his eyes wider and taking stock of his surroundings. No, this was not a dream, he thought with relief.

He was in a bedroom - probably in an inn. A small fire sputtered in a hearth across the room. The air was mostly cool but the water he was in was comfortably warm. There were lanterns burning nearby, and a small candle sat on the edge of the large stone tub at his feet, casting a dim reflection into the water of the bath. He estimated it must be after midnight from the level of darkness outside the window and the utter calm he sensed that was only ever present in the depth of night.

He felt a slight pressure on his chest and looked down to see a slender, pale hand resting there. To either side he saw a pair of pale knees rising out of the water. He could feel the pleasant pressure of a pair of soft, naked breasts behind his shoulders.

He was in a bath, and someone – a woman – was in here with him. He couldn't help but laugh to himself at the absurdity that this should keep happening to him. Women and baths seemed to be a recurring theme in his life.

He delicately lifted the arm laid across his chest and placed it on the side of the tub. Then, as slowly and quietly as he could, he moved to the other side of the tub and leaned back to regard his savior.

It was the woman from his dream, he realized with surprise. He knew he had never seen her before in his life – he would have remembered. Well, maybe his amnesia had wiped her out of his memories, too, but he still had the sense that they had never met before.

This must have been the figure he had noticed near the clearing earlier. She was deeply asleep, eyelids fluttering constantly as if she were dreaming. It was the kind of exhausted sleep he recognized could occur after a long period of struggle and finally winning; after knowing if you didn't win you would be dead. It was the sleep of a survivor.

He sat quietly in the warm water watching her in the dim, flickering light.

She had short hair the same color as his own that curled delicately around her temples, this was unusual considering the apparent youthfulness of her features. But without his scars he might only appear to be in his 30s, even though he was much, much older.

She had striking features: a long, slender nose; high, soft cheekbones; a small, square chin; full lips slightly parted... he felt a stirring in his loin when he gazed on her lips. He laughed quietly to himself again, and pulled his hands out of the water to wet his face and try to clear his mind. As his hands dropped, he noticed an odd blue glow to the water.

Whatever magic she had used to cure him of the poison was in this water. He wondered how much of herself she had put into it, too - enough to bring her to such a point of exhaustion that his movements hadn't awakened her yet. He wasn't an expert on sorcery - especially not healing magic - but knew quite a bit, and this woman's methods were unusual to him. It would have taken powerful healing magic to bring him back from the brink of death as she had, and even further. He felt invigorated, as if he hadn't been hunting contracts for the past week straight, with little rest.

As an afterthought, he glanced at the spot on his upper arm where the harpy had gouged him earlier in the week. There were three neat pink scars where the wounds had been just hours before. He returned his gaze to her.

She had scars, which was unusual for a sorceress. The sorceresses he was acquainted with would commonly use magic to hide even the smallest blemish. Even if they had scars, you would never see them.

This woman, if she was a sorceress, was an anomaly, but he didn't know how else to explain his survival. Her body looked more like it belonged to a soldier, her skin was soft and creamy white, but he could see taught muscles beneath. He saw small scars on her upper arms that appeared to be from arrows that had pierced her skin, and faint criss-crossing scars on her forearms and hands that could have come from hand-to-hand combat. She also had a narrow scar that ran along her jawbone on the right side of her face and came to a point in the center of her chin. And she had one long, ragged scar that extended from the left side of her collarbone diagonally and ended just over her heart.

In the hollow at the base of her neck rested a heavy white bone amulet elaborately etched with the figures of a dragon and a wolf, the outline of the wolf glowing brightly. Something nagged at the back of his mind. There was something about that amulet that he should know but he couldn't remember. Another lost memory?

Just then he heard something move in the room. He turned to look over his shoulder and saw a large, black dog standing up near the fireplace, regarding him with a very serious look. He didn't think he'd ever seen a dog so huge before. And menacing. The dog emitted a low, rumbling growl as their eyes met.

* * *

Solona woke with a start at the sound of Lusa's growl, and saw the Witcher looking apprehensively at the dog.

"Lusa, shush," she said quietly. The dog huffed and then curled back into his spot before the fire, still vigilant, but at ease.

When the Witcher turned back to face her, her breath caught in her throat.

She had seen those eyes in her dreams, but being faced with them finally was a bigger shock than she had anticipated. She regained her composure quickly and gazed back at him.

So, this was the infamous  _Gwynbleidd_. She had suspected it when she first saw him fighting those monsters, but became convinced once she had undressed him and began healing the poison from his blood. He appeared just as Dandelion had described in his ballads. Strong and scarred with snow white hair and the silver wolf's head medallion.

But there was a heat in his eyes as he looked at her that made her quiver to her core. That was something the bard had left out.

"Thank you for saving my life today," he said, his voice deep and somehow suggestive. "I'll have to think of some way to repay the debt."

She smiled softly, still holding his gaze.

"I'm sure I can come up with something. It may require some effort on your part," she said, her tone equally suggestive. Her mouth turned up at one corner.

Her tone and expression turned sober.

"But first I need to make sure you're okay. How are you feeling?" she asked as she moved down the tub towards him, the warm water rippling around her.

"Alive," he said,  _Very much alive,_ he thought, feeling his arousal grow as she came nearer _._

She stopped just in front of him, kneeling between his thighs, acutely aware of their closeness but preferring to ignore it for the time being until she was certain he was in no more danger.

"Let me check your vitals," she said, reaching behind him for the candle that was still burning on the edge of the tub.

He blinked owlishly at her as she held the small light up in front of his eyes, observing the response in first one pupil, then the other.

She leaned to set the candle back in its place and felt his warm breath on her shoulder as she leaned past him, her skin prickled slightly in response to the sensation and she felt her nipples harden. When she leaned back she laid two fingers on the side of his throat to check his pulse. It was strong but fast.

Looking into his eyes again, she asked, "Does your heart always beat so fast?" but was conscious that her own pulse seemed to be keeping pace.

"Only when I wake up naked in a bath with a beautiful woman," he replied softly. His eyes burned with lust.

He took one hand from the side of the tub and laid it against her cheek, caressing gently with his thumb.

"I think I'd like to discuss payment of my debt now," he said gruffly, and she felt him attempt to gently draw her closer. She resisted, smirking at him slightly.

"Right now, you would?"

He looked confused, and looked around trying to re-assess the situation just in case he had missed something. Yes, they were still two people naked in a warm bath together.

"Did I miss something?" he asked, suddenly on the defensive and wishing fervently that his cock would follow suit, and soon.

She smiled and said slowly, "No. I just think that more – negotiation – is in order. That's all."

He felt something soft stroke against his stiffened flesh and realized that her hand was under the water just between them. He groaned quietly at the sensation.

"What do you propose?" he asked her, slightly breathless.

She looked at the ceiling as though contemplating her answer then leaned closer to him, her lips brushing softly against his ear. She responded in a whisper.

"I think I will take what I'm owed, and will let you know when your debt is paid in full. It might have to be done in installments..."

He felt her stroke him again and was unable to control the twitch of his hips toward her hand. Her smile widened as she watched him respond to her.

"I am at your mercy," he said, smiling back, and placing his hands obediently on the sides of the tub.

Accepting his surrender with a coy smile, she moved so that her knees were straddling his thighs under the water. As she adjusted her position and her breasts drew level with his face she heard his deep murmur of appreciation.

She leaned down and whispered in his ear, "You can touch me..."

He took his hands from the sides of the tub, resting them lightly on her hips.

She gazed at him intently. _He's the one,_ she thought.  _He's the reason I'm here._  She forgot her desire for a moment and brought one hand up to his face, tracing the scar that extended across his left eye from his brow to his cheek.

His eyes closed at the small caress of her fingers and then opened again, holding her gaze with intensity. He noticed that her eyes were the same color as the dragon from his dream and for some reason fully expected her to breathe fire on him. He felt his pulse quicken and his fingers tightened on her hips.

 _Who is she?_ He thought, and wondered idly if he really was still dreaming. Her soft flesh under his fingertips felt real enough to him. And she  _had_  saved his life. He slowly relaxed his grip on her and slid his arms around her, his large hands trailing gently up her back and pulling her body closer to his.

When she was close enough, he kissed her chest softly between her breasts, then laid gentle kisses across the tip of one breast, pausing at the peak to flick his tongue briefly across the hard pink flesh. She felt a small jolt that shot straight to her core, the fire there burning ever hotter. She let out a soft moan as his lips wrapped around the flesh of her nipple and he sucked gently. One of his hands slid softly down her hip and over her backside under the warm water, down the back of her thigh, then snaked inward and slid back up her inner thigh. Her breath quickened and she let out a soft moan as his fingers found her center and began to stroke her gently. All thought left her mind at his expert touch.

After a moment of gentle teasing, he slid his hand back up to her hip and the warmth of his lips and tongue left her breast. She looked down at him to see his face tilted up to hers again, eyes regarding her hungrily.

She answered his wordless need with her lips on his, kissing him deeply and lowering her hips until she felt his hard thick flesh press against her center. He grasped her hips again tightly, guiding her down until she enveloped his entire length. They let out simultaneous gasps against each other's lips when the penetration was complete and they began to slowly rock together, kissing each other again hungrily.

His hands slid up her back and their kiss broke, the building passion causing them to gasp for breath. She gripped his shoulders tightly with both hands and tilted her head back in ecstasy as they found a rhythm, his deep thrusts inside her sending jolts of pleasure through her body. His mouth found her exposed throat, kissing and biting gently. She purred in pleasure when his head tilted down and his lips wrapped around her nipple once more.

His thrusting became deeper and more insistent, their rocking movements causing the water around them to slosh over the edges of the tub, one big wave splashing the candle and dousing the flame, leaving only one small lamp near the bed, and the dwindling fire to light the room.

Her thighs clutched him tightly as she felt herself nearing climax. He seemed to sense that she was on the edge and quickened his thrusting, sliding one hand down her stomach between them until his thumb found the small pink knob at her center and beginning to stroke it, gently at first and then harder when he heard her deep moan of pleasure at his touch. Her breathing quickened and he watched in fascination as a deep flush began to rise over the pale skin of her breasts and up to her neck. His stroking tipped her over the edge and she cried out in ecstasy, her muscles clenching around him and pulling him over the edge with her, his own deeper cry of pleasure mingling with hers as they plunged into the abyss.

The waves of pleasure washing over them gradually abated and their rocking slowed. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, out of breath. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around her, enjoying the feel of her soft, damp flesh under his touch, and her softer, wetter flesh enveloping his still erect sex.

He shifted slightly, supporting her with his arms as he tilted her body backwards and got his legs underneath them to stand. She clung to him, legs wrapped around his hips, their bodies still connected at the center. He stepped gingerly out of the bath and walked the few paces to the bed, water dripping from their skin and leaving small puddles on the floorboards behind him. Still holding her, he rested one knee on the bed and laid her down gently against the pillows, tilting his own body to follow hers so they remained joined, his hard length still enveloped in her warmth.

He began to move in her again, slowly and deliberately, and his eyes found hers.

He felt connected to her in more than just a physical way. They had spoken few words since she woke, but he felt that there was some deep unspoken connection between them; whether it was from his dream of her or from her act of saving his life, he wasn't sure exactly.

He tilted his head down and kissed her deeply, then broke away, gazing into her eyes. His gaze dropped to the amulet at her throat, and he slowed his movements as he brought one hand up to touch it, a question forming in his mind. He was about to put the thought to words when he felt her legs clench him tighter.

"Don't stop," she insisted in a breathless whisper. "Kiss me."

Time enough for talk later, he decided, and complied, covering her mouth with his own and quickening his pace, her hips rising up to meet each thrust. They climaxed simultaneously, their cries of ecstasy mingling in the night.

Breathing heavily still, he gave her a long, lingering kiss and shifted his weight, extracting himself from her grip and laying next to her on the blankets that were still damp with the remnants of their bath.

She turned her head to look at him, thinking,  _Well, the rumors are true._  She was limp and breathless after their exertions but felt a subtle pulsing between her legs. She knew  _she_  wasn't finished yet for the evening, but she might just need to catch her breath before embarking on the next leg.

He lay on his side next to her, one elbow bent and his head propped up on his hand, his other hand laying on her belly and tracing small patterns between her breasts and navel.

"Who are you?" he asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

"I'm your destiny, Geralt," she said in a soft, serious voice, and she wondered what had compelled her to say  _those_  words.

He didn't seem surprised, only asking, "What took you so long, oh destiny of mine?" His lips tilted up into a wide smile.

 _He thinks I'm joking,_ she thought, so she smiled back at him and turned onto her side to face him, mirroring his posture and leaning on one hand.

"You can call me Solona," she said, "but you should know the destiny part isn't a lie. I came here to find you. I need your help with something important. Something only you can help me with."

He nodded and asked with a lusty glint in his eyes, "Is this something that needs to be done before dawn, or can it wait?"

His hand had strayed lower and lower on her stomach, his fingers now twining themselves in the muff between her thighs and moving lower still. She moaned softly when his fingers reached her center and began softly stroking her.

She leaned in close to him, their faces nearly touching, snaked her tongue out and delicately licked at his lower lip, whispering, "It can wait at least until Noon."

She grasped his lip gently between her teeth and sucked lightly, moaning again at the way his fingers were gently working her. She placed her free hand on his chest and slowly traced her fingertips across his scars and down his abdomen. Finding him still hard and ready she began stroking him, returning the favor. After a moment he let out a deep groan and grabbed her by the hips, laying back and rolling her on top of him.

"Time for another installment," he said with a gleam in his eye as he slipped back inside her. She smiled playfully and started moving on top of him again.

"At this rate you might have your debt paid by, oh, this time next year." He was in no hurry.

* * *

He awoke to a grey morning and a fierce hunger, his stomach rumbling loudly. He sat up, placing his feet on the floor and rubbing his face in his hands in an effort to clear his head.

 _Last night,_  he thought, dazed,  _was it a dream?_

He turned and looked over his shoulder at the bed and saw her. She was on her back and still sleeping very peacefully in the dim morning light, one arm slung over the top of her head, elbow crooked, and her naked, pink-tipped breasts just peaking out from beneath the tops of the covers.

His eyes lingered on her and he had an urge to reach out and touch her but his stomach rejected the thought with sudden insistence. Food first. Sex later.

He stood up and hunted for his clothing, which he found folded neatly on a chair by the table near the door. He dressed in his breaches and cloth shirt, donned his boots quickly, and grabbed his coin pouch, then quietly stepped out the door to go order them some breakfast.

He came back into the room a moment later and stooped immediately to stoke the remaining coals in the fireplace. Days were getting colder as he made it further north into Kaedwen. Winter would be on him soon and he hoped to be back to Kaer Morhen by then.

But this was a new development. He wondered what she wanted his help with.  _His destiny_ , she had said, and he felt something start to untwist in his mind. He still had so many missing memories, much of his past lost to him. But this woman somehow lit a spark in his mind. It wasn't something that illuminated the lost pieces for him, but it showed him something deeper, something that he sensed had been buried in him even before he had lost those memories, and it was bringing it to the surface.

 _Maybe it's just about the sex,_  he thought, not ready to embrace the deeper thoughts that he'd started having.

He realized it was just an excuse, but thought it might be a good idea to rest and recover for a couple days. He had nearly  _died_  the day before, after all. But he rarely met a woman who could keep pace with his libido... he didn't think he ever had, now that he tried to recall.

Most women were enthusiastic and appreciative but he was such a thorough lover that they were satisfied enough to push him away at a certain point, like he was a third serving of holiday pheasant and they  _just couldn't_  or they would burst. He had enough experience to know that even prostitutes enjoyed his attention, but after a certain point it was clear that it had just become work to them. He preferred a partner who was wholeheartedly invested in the encounter from start to finish, and was ready to go again when he was.

He rarely took matters into his own hands, either. When he wasn't with a woman – which was most of the time – he was generally too focused on his current contract, or some other dire mission, to think about it, aside from the odd distraction. For those occasions that he found himself with leisure time he had a small stock of pleasant memories he would draw from, but there were few truly worthwhile ones – the image of Triss in the elven bath popped into his head unbidden and he smiled at the memory.

He had a sense that after a couple days with this woman he would have a stockpile of pleasant memories to last him through the winter, and winters in Kaer Morhen were long, lonely, and cold.

He sat back in the chair by the fireplace and thought back to the night before, watching her.  _Solona_ , he remembered. He savored the memory of their lovemaking. They had come together at least three more times during the night, until they were finally exhausted, and she had kept pace with him the entire time.

He was contemplating crawling back into bed with her and having another go, when the large black –  _monster –_  dog arose and loped towards the door, his ears perked up expectantly and his nose twitching.

There was a soft knock at the door and a voice said, "Your breakfast, sir."

Yes, of course.  _Food_. Then sex.

He stood up and opened the door. The maid stepped in and placed a huge platter on the table by the door and then left quietly after receiving a small tip. The strong aromas of the food made his belly growl loudly. The dog looked up at him and whuffed.

"Should we wake her before we eat, do you think?" he asked the dog.

Geralt watched in amusement as the beast turned to look over at its master who still lay sleeping soundly, and then trotted over to the side of the bed and nuzzled her cheek with his cold nose, then gave her one slobbery lick across the forehead.

It had its desired effect. Her arms flailed out and swatted at the dog.

"Ugh! Lusa! Gross!" she yelled.

He stood there panting at her, his butt wiggling happily.

She sat up and gave him an evil glare.

"I was sleeping, you beast, and having the nicest,  _dirtiest_  dream, too..." she trailed off when she realized the subject of her dream was standing by the fireplace regarding her with his arms crossed and an amused smirk on his face.

"You're still here," she said, smiling brightly at him. "I was afraid it had all been a dream."

"No dream," he said and pointed at the table, "I ordered breakfast for us."

"Oh, fantastic! I'm so hungry I could eat a … fat slobbery dog," she said, glaring at her pet.

She stood up and faced the window, stretching heartily. When she did his heart sped up at the sight of her bare backside and the odd birthmark that graced one side near her hip.  _A dragon?_  he thought, and wondered if it was actually a tattoo, but was too imperfect. She bent down and rummaged in her pack, pulling out a small, flimsy robe that she shrugged into and belted around her waist, then turned towards him. She looked up at him, brows creased.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said.

"Are you a dragon?" he asked abruptly.

She blinked at him, and laughed out loud, surprised at the question.

"Hah! A dragon? In my dreams!" She smiled at him, but the smile faded when she saw the serious expression on his face. "You're serious aren't you?" she asked.

"Your birthmark..." he said. "And that amulet you wear..."

"No, I'm  _not_  a dragon, that I'm aware of. But I do occasionally dream that I'm one. A big white one, flying over the mountaintops," she illustrated with her arms outstretched and swaying in an imaginary breeze.

"And sometimes there's a wolf... a big white one," she said with a significant glance at him, "... following me... or leading me, I'm never quite sure."

He responded, "There is power in dreams. In my own dreams sometimes I'm a wolf. A  _white_ wolf, like the elves call me...  _Gwynbleidd_."

He added softly, "I dreamed about a dragon last night, though. A large white one..."

"But you aren't  _actually_  a wolf," she replied, in a reasonable tone. He had no argument. She sat at the table and dove into the food. He watched her, intrigued, and after a moment sat down to join her.

In between bites she asked, "So are the bard's songs true?"

He was quiet for a moment, chewing his food.

In a suspicious tone, he asked, "Which bard?"

Affecting an accent and tone that was strikingly similar to the bard's actual voice, she said, "The famous troubadour, Dandelion." She elaborated, "I met him in Vizima, about a week or so ago I think, and had the pleasure of hearing him play. He knew a good bit about you, judging from his songs." Her voice was lightly accented and pleasant to listen to

"Lies and exaggerations," he said, looking uncomfortable.

A slow smile spread across her face. She had gotten a sense from the songs that the White Wolf was a hardened, unemotional killer and had wondered how hard his shell really was. She was starting to see a crack now that gave her a peek to something softer - more human - underneath. She decided to test it.

"Well, he sang his own praises almost as much as yours." She paused, then with a small smirk said, "But I have to say he was no where near as good, or  _thorough,_  a lover as you."

 _It was only a_ _slight_ _exaggeration, but it was true..._ She stopped and held her breath for a second, anticipating his response. She wasn't disappointed. She heard a small hiss escape his lips and his eyes flashed with irritation and... was that _amusement_? He shook his head and laughed quietly to himself, idly massaging the scar on his forehead with a thumb.

"Care to share?" she asked, extremely curious now.

He sighed, and said, "Dandelion and I are old friends. I think sometimes he feels like he's living in my shadow, but he gets very full of himself when he gets the jump on me. Let's just say he's never going to let me live this down if he finds out you were with me  _after_  him."

Understanding dawned on her. So there was a little playful competition between the two men.

She said, "I get the sense that this kind of thing doesn't happen often... him getting the jump on you, I mean."

"Almost never, but it's not like I try to keep him down. He's quite capable of seduction on his own, to hear him tell it. But I admit I've inadvertently derailed his pursuits on occasion."

She smiled softly and said in a husky voice, "No... he wouldn't have stood a chance with me if you had been there."

He looked at her from beneath lowered lashes and emitted a low growl. The next thing she knew he'd pulled her astride him from her chair, and was pushing the light robe off her shoulders with one hand to gain access to her skin.


	11. The Request

They finished their breakfast in the grey light of dawn, followed by a lusty romp on the breakfast table that resulted in the remains of their food getting knocked to the floor, much to the delight of the dog. Then Lusa was rather insistent about his need to go out, so they dressed and ventured outside, taking a walk around the inn in the gray, misty morning while the dog relieved himself on everything that wasn't nailed down, and several things that were. There was a large field to the east of the inn that was bordered by a low stone wall. When they rounded that side of the inn, Lusa took off into the field chasing some unseen prey. Solona and Geralt followed, strolling in amiable silence along the path that followed the wall. After a few moments he asked her for the second time, "Who are you, Solona? And don't feed me that 'destiny' bullshit, I want facts." She glanced over at him and took a deep breath, "Okay... it's kind of a long story." He nodded and looked at her expectantly.

"Do you know about the Conjunction of the Spheres?" she asked. He nodded in reply, saying, "The cataclysm from ancient history... Witchers may not have existed otherwise. The collision of the dimensions brought the monsters to this world, and humans, too. Supposedly the human world was destroyed."

She nodded and took a deep breath, saying, "I came through an Elven portal from the human world...  _my_ world, which wasn't actually destroyed." She paused for a second letting him absorb the information. "Around the time of the Conjunction, some magisters got greedy trying to attain greater power, and were corrupted into what we call darkspawn. Ever since, my world has been periodically plagued by blights whenever the darkspawn would corrupt an Old God, and turn him into an Archdemon." She glanced over at him briefly and then took another deep breath and continued. "I belong to an order of warriors called the Grey Wardens, who were originally organized to fight the Archdemons. We undergo a … ritual … that changes us and allows us to attune to the mind of the Archdemon, and to sense the darkspawn in order to better fight them. However, I learned recently that it's possible to prevent the corruption of the Old Gods. There are only two remaining in the spirit world, and it is prophesied that, without intervention, when they arise corrupted they will shatter our worlds to pieces."

His expression grew grim and he said, "Don't tell me you need my help to kill two  _gods_."

She laughed softly, "No, nothing like that. The old gods themselves aren't evil. They're not even really  _gods_  technically. They're just very, very powerful spirits. We just need to protect them by preventing the darkspawn from having access to them. "

He looked at her skeptically, "How do you know they aren't evil?"

"Because they speak to me, in my dreams," she answered with a shrug and he looked at her with raised eyebrows. "They've called to me since I was a child. I've never gotten the sense that they were malevolent - not the uncorrupted ones."

Softly, she continued, holding his gaze for a moment, "There is an alternate prophecy, and you and I are the subjects. It speaks of the two of us joining forces to - well - save the world, more or less," she smiled at him apologetically. "It speaks of the old gods and how we can save them, but it isn't clear to me yet how to accomplish that... I'm hoping you can help me decipher the prophecies. Do you know Elder Speech?"

He nodded saying, "Yes, I do, but how do you know the prophecy is about  _us_?"

She replied, pointing at him, "You're the  _Gwynbleidd_. That's the name used in the prophecy. And apparently I'm someone the dryads call  _Gwynrhena,_ which is the other name used in the prophecy. I think the ritual we have to perform involves burning something or starting a fire, but the translation is vague. I can show it to you when we go back in."

"Do you know  _when_  this ritual needs to happen?" he asked, thinking that winter would be a miserable time to have to run around trying to save the world. "Midsummer, during the full moon," she replied. "I'm certain of that part at least." They had plenty of time to prepare, which was a small blessing.  _But Midsummer?_  he thought. What she described sounded suspiciously like a fertility ritual and he wondered if she realized it, and that he was probably not the best candidate for the job if that was the case.

"There is one other thing I need from you," she said and hesitated, unsure how to adequately explain what she needed. "Whatever it is that makes you what you are... a Witcher, I mean... I need it. I don't know how you  _become_  a Witcher, maybe it's similar to what Grey Wardens have to undergo during our Joining. But for our final ritual to succeed, I need your... magic. In my blood."

Realizing what she was asking, he abruptly stopped walking and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him. His expression was dark, his yellow eyes piercing her like daggers. "Absolutely not," he said in a steady, even tone. She was confused, and irritated at his adamant refusal. "Why not?" she asked, indignant and feeling a subtle rage building at his tight grip on her arm.

He regarded her with pursed lips and said, "I can't tell you. Our methods are highly guarded secrets and have been for centuries. We can't just share them with anyone who comes along asking." She wasn't surprised at his reluctance to tell her; the Grey Warden Joining ritual was a highly guarded secret as well. Her voice tense, she said, "You don't have to tell me your secrets. But I need to have a piece of the third world in my blood for the ritual to work - I need your blood."

Sensing her rising ire, he loosened his grip on her arm and asked, "What do you mean, you need my blood?"

She sighed and looked up at the sky, then began to explain, "When I came to this world I was greeted by a dryad queen. She knew of the prophecy and elaborated on a piece of it. I have elements of two of the worlds in me already. My mother was human, my father was an elf, half my world and half this world. But I need a piece of the third world - the monster world - to have the balance required by the ritual. You.." she paused to clarify, " _Witchers..._  are  _monsters_."

He flinched at that, but understood the truth in it. The trials that apprentice Witchers underwent as children, consuming the mutagenic elements of the beasts they killed, turned them into something not exactly human if they survived, and most did not.

Suddenly he felt a tightening in his chest at the thought that this beautiful woman standing before him would willingly subject herself to that, and possibly die. He dropped his hands to his sides and cleared his throat, turning his face and squinting at the hills that bordered the horizon. He tried to ignore the tightness in his chest when he turned back, hoping to reason with her, "Our trials are a complicated process that take years to complete. I was only a boy when I began my training and the trials and was a grown man when I completed the final one. Many of us...  _most_  of us, don't survive the final trial. Some perish even earlier." As an afterthought he pointed at his hair and said, "The final trial is how this happened."

She regarded him curiously and absently tugged at a strand of hair that curled at her temple. "Well, as you can see,  _that_  isn't a concern for me," she said with a wry smile.

His eyebrows drew together and with a nod towards her hair he asked, "Your Grey Warden ritual?" She nodded in response. "How long ago was it?" he asked, turning to start walking again. She gave him a sidelong glance as she fell into step beside him, "A little over a year ago. And you might be interested to know that many recruits don't survive our ritual either. Two others went through the Joining with me and I'm the only one who lived. So I guess you could say my being here at all is a testament to my endurance." He felt a small twitch between his thighs at the mention of her  _endurance._

"And that's not even the worst thing I've managed to survive," she said, pulling the collar of her shirt apart to show the large scar that graced her chest. He raised his eyebrows in query. "The Archdemon," she explained.

His eyes lingered on her chest for a moment before he dragged them away, meeting her gaze again and asked, "You killed it, I take it?" Then, "What exactly is an  _Archdemon_ , anyway? It sounds nasty."

She answered, "The old gods, when they show themselves, take the forms of high dragons, as does the Archdemon. The Archdemon required an army to finally put down, I fought with the army and ultimately made the killing blow to the creature, but not without the Archdemon getting the final word," she glanced down at the scar on her chest. "He did have a name, before they corrupted him," she said. Almost reverently she whispered, "Urthemiel..."

He said, "So it took you and an army of these Grey Wardens to kill the thing? Couldn't an army of normal soldiers have handled it?"

"It  _was_  an army of normal soldiers," she replied. "Well, soldiers, Elven rangers, a Dwarven legion, and my fellow mages. Everyone who was willing to fight, really. And the Archdemon commanded a horde of darkspawn we had to fight through before we could even reach it."

She paused and looked over at him before continuing and saw him looking back at her with rapt interest. "It took me a year to build the support necessary to even give us a chance. I had to orchestrate the kingships of two nations in the process, fight a high dragon, fight countless demons and darkspawn, and fight a duel to the death against one of my country's most beloved heroes." She added slightly under her breath, "Of course he wasn't really much of a  _hero_ by the time I got to him, but the bastard was still one of the toughest opponents I've ever faced, the dragon included."

Her tone turned bitter and she said, "The Grey Warden army had mostly been slaughtered by a darkspawn horde, thanks to the misguided ideals of that so-called hero I dueled." She paused, then said softly, "There was only one other Grey Warden who survived with me..." Her expression became slightly sad and distant for a second and she stared at the ground. He looked at her, instantly intrigued and curious about the rest of her story. She had accomplished more in one year than some kings did in their entire lifetime.  _Dandelion should write songs about_ her _,_ he thought.

She stopped walking again and looked at him, eyes pleading. "Geralt, there must be a way for it to work - for me to complete the Witcher trials. The dryad queen seemed to believe that the  _taint_  from the Joining would serve as a foundation for your rituals. I  _have_ to believe that I'll survive it, otherwise this entire mission is useless and there's no hope for our worlds at all. I  _have to try._ "

He stood regarding her thoughtfully and noticed a small pulse of light at her throat. He was briefly mesmerized by the small figure of the wolf on her amulet that had started glowing brightly and he felt something in the back of his mind untwist further. Realizing that she was not the type of person to give up easily, he said in a rough voice, "Alright. We should leave for Kaer Morhen in the morning. I won't know what materials we need for the trials until I can see what supplies are in the lab there. And I'll need to talk to Vesemir about the logistics of an accelerated series of trials." She nodded at him, her relief plain on her face. "Thank you," she said quietly. Then she called to Lusa who came bounding over to them happily and they turned back towards the inn.

Once they were back inside the inn, they scavenged some bread and cheese from the kitchen for their lunch, which they carried upstairs with them. On the way back up the stairs to their room he admired the curve of her shapely backside flexing in the snug black leather breeches she wore, and thought about the dragon-shaped mark on her skin beneath them.  _Marked by dragons,_ he thought and something flickered in the depths of his memory again.

When she stepped inside the room she turned to him with a smile and grabbed the small hunk of bread he carried, tossing it to the table nearby along with the cheese she was holding. Understanding her intentions, he swung the door shut with one foot and moved towards her, his groin tightening in anticipation.

* * *

Many hours later, they lay in bed entwined and sweaty from their exertions, the darkness falling gradually around them. He just couldn't get enough of her and she seemed to have an equally insatiable appetite for him. She lay snugly up against him, one leg draped over his under the sheet and her arm across his chest, dozing softly with her head tucked against his shoulder. He idly caressed her bare shoulder with his fingertips, thinking about the mission he had just agreed to. He was extremely conflicted about the idea of letting her go through the trials, if it were even possible in such a short timeframe. The trials were tortuous at best, as he remembered. Not to mention it would probably take a couple months of work to secure all the ingredients they would need. He wondered idly what Vesemir would think of him bringing a woman to Kaer Morhen with the intention of turning her into a Witcher. There had been no women Witchers that he knew of and he had no idea how to broach the subject with the older man. But if anyone could survive it, he thought she could. He realized with a sudden pang that he wasn't willing to contemplate any other outcome.

He felt her stir next to him. "What are you thinking about?" he heard her ask softly. He hadn't even realized she was awake. "About the prophecy," he lied. "Can you show me your text?"

She slid to the side of the bed and sat up to rummage in her pack by the windows, first drawing out a loose cotton shirt and pulling it over her head, then a large bundle wrapped in a layer of oilcloth lined on the inside with soft velvet. She unwrapped the cloth to reveal a tome bound in tooled leather with the image of a leafless tree intricately embroidered on the cover in silver thread. She set the book on her lap and turned, gesturing with one hand towards the lantern on the bedside table. His amulet vibrated slightly as the wick flared up, illuminating the room in warm, flickering light.

It was the first time he'd seen her use magic since he had awakened the night before, and she'd done it without so much as a whispered incantation or fancy hand gesture - just a simple, graceful motion of her hand.  _Unusual_ , he thought. As if reading his mind she said idly, "Magic  _tastes_  different here... like it's filtered. It seems purer than in my world, if that makes sense."

She turned and handed him the book, pointing at some ragged ribbons that dangled from it, marking several of the pages. "The important parts are marked," she said.

He took the book from her, asking "Have you been a sorcerer for very long?" She turned and looked at him quizzically.

She replied, "I don't know if I'd call myself a sorcerer, although I'm not sure if there's a distinction between a sorcerer and a mage."

He tried to clarify, "When did you first learn to channel magic?"

She looked back at him, confused. "I've always been able to do it, since I can remember." He frowned at her, so she elaborated, "In my world, mages are born with the gift, and it's  _not_  a happy thing for most families. I never really knew my own parents because I was sent away at such an early age because of my magical abilities. It's considered a stain on a family's honor to have magic in their line, especially a noble family. Anyone who is born with the gift gets sent off to the Circle of Magi if their abilities are discovered."

He asked, "The Circle is a school for mages, then?"

She laughed bitterly and replied, "You could call it that, but it's really little more than a gilded cage, with the equivalent of hungry cats guarding it who would just as soon eat us as protect us." She sang mockingly, " _Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him,_ " then muttered softly, "Fucking Andraste. What a fucking cunt."

He gave her a perplexed half-smile and asked in amused fascination, "Who is Andraste and what did she do to piss you off?"

Not sure she wanted to dig into that pile of horseshit she shrugged and just said, "She's supposedly the wife of the Maker. But  _she's_  the reason mages in my world are treated as second-class citizens. Even elves get more respect than us, and that's saying a  _lot_. I can tell you the whole story later if you really want to hear it, but I think you have some reading to do so you'd better get started."

He nodded and sat up straighter, adjusting the pillows behind him. He opened the book to the first marked section and the aroma of woodsmoke and dried herbs wafted up to his nostrils from the yellowed pages. He began to read.

* * *

While Geralt was engrossed with Flemeth's Grimoire, Solona got up, threw on her leather trousers, and busied herself with packing. Once night had fully set in she started feeling a chill in the air and bent to light the fireplace. When she cast the small flame spell she noticed the silver wolf's head at Geralt's throat vibrate slightly and realized that its purpose must be to detect magic. She thought she would ask him about it later and see if he had any insight into what her own amulet's enchantment might be. The best explanation she had come up with was that it was some kind of guide for her, and possibly tied to the prophecy somehow. It had initially activated when she first encountered the Witcher, and again today when he made the decision to grant her request. But only the figure of the wolf had illuminated so far. She wondered what the significance of the other half was; the wolf was clearly tied to the Witcher, but what did the dragon mean? Was it tied to  _her_  somehow? Was there some grand decision she needed to make for it to activate? She was suddenly worried. What if the amulet was some kind of signal that she was ready to attempt the final ritual, and what if she never managed to  _be_  ready?

With the lingering worry still nagging at her, she finished her packing, threw on her cloak, and left the room with Lusa at her heels. They made a quick circuit around the inn for him to do his business. When they came in she requested that dinner be sent up to the room and also bought what travel-ready food she could from the innkeeper to pack for their journey, which mostly consisted of hard biscuits and jerky, but she was able to secure a couple flasks of strong brandy and a wheel of extremely aromatic cheese.  _Alistair would approve,_ she thought with a small, bittersweet smile.

When she got back to the room she found Geralt still buried in the book, with a very serious expression on his face. When their supper came he finally stopped reading long enough to throw on his breeches and join her at the table, but remained quiet and thoughtful, not saying a single word to her. Her gut clenched in apprehension at his silence and she could barely finish her food, but she bided her time, resolving to wait until he was finished before pressing him to share his thoughts and understanding of the text.

After they finished their food he went back to reading in his previous spot on the bed. She removed her boots and pants, climbing under the blankets in her shirt next to him, and turned to face the windows with her back towards him.  _What if he changes his mind after reading it?_ she thought. She had no idea what she would do if he refused her utterly. She had no other options at this stage. She was stuck in a world not her own and knew without a doubt that she needed to complete this mission or everyone would be doomed. A small voice of reason spoke up inside her. There was no sense worrying about it unless it actually happened, and deep down she sensed that he was already committed to their goal. She sighed deeply in relief at the thought and attempted to sleep.

"Where did you get this book?" she heard him ask abruptly, breaking through the silence and rousing her from her sleepy state. She sat up and looked at him, eyes blinking in surprise. "It belonged to Flemeth...ah..." she struggled for a moment to remember the name the dryads had called her. "Asha'bellanar? Um... Aen Henbeanna...?" At the last phrase he finally showed recognition, but scowled deeply. He asked, "She gave it to you personally?" Her eyes shifted away. _How to answer_ _that_ _?_  she wondered.

She finally said, "Well... yes and no... She did give it to me personally  _once_ , but it's been in the keeping of her daughter since. It was only just before I came here that it came back into my possession."

"Which daughter?" he asked with fierce insistence that perplexed her.  _Did he_ _know_ _them?_  She answered slowly, "Morrigan? But I don't see how you would know her..." He relaxed visibly at this and his eyes fell back to the page he'd been reading, but it seemed he had lost focus.

"Hold on a second," she said, suddenly irritated from being on edge the entire evening. "What the fuck do Flemeth's daughters have to do with this, and why do you care?"

His shoulders tensed perceptibly and he closed his eyes for a moment. He clearly wasn't eager to answer her question. She saw him inhale deeply through his nose and let the breath out before he opened his eyes. His pupils were dilated to large, black circles which made her flinch reflexively. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again they weren't  _quite_  so freaky looking, having shrunk back to small slits.

"My mother was a sorceress," he said, as if by way of explanation. She nodded at him expectantly, not sure where he was going with his story, but making a gallant attempt to be patient and listen in spite of nearly jumping out of her skin with anxiety.

He continued somewhat haltingly, "Shortly after I was born, she abandoned me on the steps of Kaer Morhen, so I never knew her. There were some rumours that she had merely been a hedge witch named Visenna, but I've heard other, more trustworthy, rumours that claimed she was actually the Old One." His voice grew strained when he said, "She's the one you call  _Flemeth -_  who gave you this book." He took a long steady breath and swiped one hand over his face. "All I really knew of her was that she preferred daughters, and that was why I was left to the Witchers." He gestured at the book, "This explains everything."

 _Interesting, and somehow not the least bit surprising,_ Solona thought. She narrowed her gaze and asked, "So Flemeth is your mom... why does it matter  _where_  I got the book?" He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "It doesn't," he said. "But I was just a little worried that you might be one of her daughters."

"Which would have made us... ugh!" She cringed in sympathy with him and said, "Well, I promise you she is  _not_  my mother, although I have few memories of my actual parents. My mother committed suicide when I was young, but long after I had already been taken away from her... the magic thing, youknow."

She glanced down at the book, realizing he had been reading a section in the old language she hadn't taken the time to translate yet. "What does it say, exactly?" she asked, curious.

"It's a detailed account of steps taken to ensure the prophecy would be fulfilled, going back hundreds of years to just after the end of the fourth Blight that occurred in your world."

Solona scowled, "If she knew about it that long, why didn't she prevent the last Blight?"

He replied in a measured tone, "Because... she needed  _you_  to be there to fight that Archdemon with her daughter. She's been pulling strings in three different worlds for over a millenium. She's kept a close eye on both of us for our entire lives making sure we would take all the right paths to lead us together. She orchestrated your uncle's death, and your capture by the Chantry and subsequent conscription into the Grey Wardens." He didn't say as much but suspected that his memory loss was the witch's doing as well.  _Or whatever she was,_  he thought. He hoped the book would reveal the truth and that it would provide the answers he'd been looking for to help him finally regain his lost memories.

Once the revelations had sunk in, her eyes blazed with fury and she said angrily, "That fucking manipulative  _bitch_!"

He laughed at her, "That might be considered high praise coming from someone who refers to the very creator's  _wife_ as a 'cunt'."

"Why aren't you pissed off about it?" she asked, ignoring his quip and suddenly agitated beyond all reasoning, hopping up to pace in the small space between the bed and the fireplace. "Clearly she's fucked around with your life as much as mine. You know she's probably out there  _watching_  us right now with her witchy ways." She wiggled the fingers of one hand at the window and he thought he saw sparks flickering from her fingertips.

"No doubt," he said and shrugged. "It's her purpose in life to watch us, being the subjects of prophecies."

"Are you seriously trying to tell me that it doesn't  _bother_ you?" she asked, incredulous.

He shrugged again, noncommittal. He was entertained by her agitation. And particularly by the way her shirt would rise up above the tops of her thighs whenever she would gesture emphatically, giving him brief glimpses of her naked muff or her firm bottom as she paced back and forth.  _She used to have red hair,_  he thought idly,  _that might explain a few things._ He had to make a concerted effort to try to listen to her amidst the distractions.

When it seemed like she had settled down he finally asked, "You trusted her enough to accept her book and follow her instructions to come to this world. Why are you so dubious of her intentions now?"

She sighed in exasperation and leaned her elbows on the footboard of the bed, giving him a clear view of her breasts through the deep unlaced neckline of her shirt. She gazed at him with fierce intensity. "It's not her intentions that worry me. I just  _hate_  feeling like I'm being fucking  _controlled_."

"Even if it is for the greater good?" he asked with a semi-distracted smirk.

She sighed again and stood up, gesturing with her arms again, saying, "Yes! Anytime! I don't want to be someone else's fucking puppet! I think I've earned the right for a little trust. I crossed a fucking continent  _twice_ in order to save it, and I'm about to do it again because it's the  _right fucking thing to do_. Not to mention we'll  _all_   _die_ if I don't... or worse." Her wrath subsided briefly and she paced over to his side of the bed, looked into his eyes intently, and said in a hurt and plaintive tone, "I just wish she had  _asked me_  first, that's all."

She started to turn away to continue her pacing. Unable to control himself any longer, he set the book on the bedside table and reached out one hand, snagging her shirt tail in his fingers as she turned away. She swung around and lost balance, toppling onto him with a small grunt, their faces coming within an inch of each other. She met his eyes and saw the now familiar lust burning there, and felt his arousal digging into her belly through his trousers.

Her ire dissipated and she smiled seductively back at him, shifting her weight slightly with the intention of causing more friction between their bodies. He groaned softly at the sensation. She slid her body down his slowly, ending with her face level with his groin, which was now bulging with desire. She began to unlace his trousers with an intense look of mock concentration. When his hard cock was finally released it sprung proudly upright and she let out an exaggerated gasp, her golden eyes wide and admiring. He chuckled softly at her humour, but his fingers dug into the mattress in anticipation. She grasped his hard member around its base and ran her tongue up the length until she reached the tip. Keeping her eyes fixed on his, she enveloped him in her warm mouth, humming softly and taking him into her as deeply as she could.

He broke their gaze finally and dropped his head back onto the pillow, groaning and enjoying he feel of her mouth on him, her talented tongue working him expertly. The hem of her shirt had ridden up to her waist, the creamy skin of her bare bottom visible. His eyes settled on it, transfixed by the soft curves of each cheek rising into the air above her gracefully sloped back.

She took her time with him, using both hands and mouth in intricate combinations that made his head spin with the sensations. The tension in him built gradually, rising subtly at first and then in bigger and bigger waves until he was unable to control his response, crying out loudly in the ecstasy of release. She swallowed everything he had to give her and sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth delicately and giving him a smug grin.

A low growl rumbled in his chest and he sat forward quickly, grabbing her around the waist with both arms and turning her to push her back into the pillows behind him. She let out a delighted giggle which he silenced abruptly with a deep, penetrating kiss and gripped her behind each knee, pushing her thighs apart. She purred at him and raised her hips up, grazing his still hard cock with her glistening red-gold tuft, daring him to fill her up. He was tempted, but had other plans for her tonight.

He pushed her knees up closer to her chest and slid down, grasping her hips in his hands and lowering his face between her thighs. The heady aroma of her arousal made his head spin and his mouth water. He heard her murmur softly, " _Oh yes,"_ before he dove in with abandon, ultimately driving her to her peak multiple times and savoring the taste and texture of her as much as he would a fine whiskey.  _She is far more intoxicating, not to mention habit-forming,_  he thought as he sent her over the edge once more with his tongue. When he felt he had sufficiently tested her limits, he pulled away to slide back up between her thighs and slip his engorged manhood inside her, proceeding to fuck her as though his life depended on it.

She fell soundly asleep afterwards and Geralt lay awake next to her for some time, his mind churning with everything he had learned from the book so far. He was finally compelled to sit back up and continue reading, hoping he would find his own answers in the process of trying to find answers for the woman asleep beside him.


	12. The Northern Road

Geralt seemed suddenly distant once they were on the road the next day. When Solona awakened at dawn he hadn't been in the bed next to her. Instead she found him kneeling in silence before the cold fireplace, clad only in his trousers and seemingly in some sort of trance. The grimoire was wrapped in its protective cloth again and sitting atop her pack. She was briefly alarmed at his utter stillness and walked up to crouch near him, reaching out a tentative hand towards his bare shoulder.

With deep concern she said quietly, "Geralt?"

To her relief he opened his eyes and turned to look at her, giving her a brief smile. They dressed and packed in silence in the dim, grey morning, settled up with the surly, half-awake innkeeper, and left the inn, taking their breakfast for the road.

They rode in silence for several hours. Solona brooded over the disturbing details she had learned the evening before. The circumstances around the death of Malcolm Hawke weighed on her the most.  _What had Flemeth done to him?_ She suddenly wished that she had honored Morrigan's request to kill the woman, rather than negotiating with her to retrieve the grimoire. She recalled the particular confrontation in detail.

* * *

_As their party approached, she saw that the old woman was planting flowers outside the hut, and was surprised by the realization that there was no sign of the Blight here. Unlike the first time she had traveled it, the path to reach the place had been utterly desolate and bereft of any kind of life, and she could see that the forest line just beyond the small pond near the hut was dead as well, but the pond itself seemed to be teeming with fish._

_Flemeth stood up at their approach, wiping her soil-stained hands on her apron. As unassuming as she was, the woman still exuded an aura of power. Solona didn't trust her but believed there was something more to the old witch that Morrigan wasn't telling her (or perhaps Morrigan didn't know)._

_When she drew closer, Flemeth said, "And so you return. Lovely Morrigan has at last found someone willing to dance to her tune. Such enchanting music she plays, wouldn't you say?"_

_Solona's eyes narrowed. The woman looked as though she had been expecting her._

_She didn't waste time with greetings. "We know your little secret, Flemeth," she said, meeting the woman's eyes steadily._

_Flemeth laughed in amusement, "Which one, I wonder? What has Morrigan told you, hmm? What little plan has she hatched this time?"_

Just a stupid plan to try to kill you _, she thought, but knew better than to say it. "She knows how you extend your unnatural lifespan," she said, but the humor in the woman's eyes was making her uncertain about how much Morrigan really knew._

_Flemeth said, "That she does. But the question is, do you? Ah, But it is an old, old story. One that Flemeth has heard before. And even told. Let us skip right to the ending, shall we? Do you slay the old wretch as Morrigan bids? Or does the tale take a different turn?"_

_Solona's curiosity was piqued. "Before I decide, I want to know if the story is true. Do you possess your own daughters to extend your life?"_

_Flemeth actually looked as though she hadn't been prepared for the question. Her brows twitched slightly and she looked back at Solona with intense interest. "I wonder, is it lack of trust in my daughter, or honest skepticism that made you ask that?" The witch shrugged and waved one hand in dismissal, then said, "I suppose it can't hurt to answer. My children are all alive and well, and, as far as I am aware, unpossessed. These rumors are merely a tool, fabricated to maintain a certain level of … privacy."_

_Solona persisted, "So how do you extend your lifespan?"_

_Flemeth laughed heartily, "You are a persistent and curious girl. It's no wonder you and my daughter get along so well. No doubt you would find kindred spirits in my other children as well, were you to meet them. There is one child in particular that I think you would get along with famously. But the question remains, will you slay me today? Or will the story have another ending?"_

_Solona was irritated at the witch's deft evasion of her question, but realized it was unlikely that she would get a straight answer either way. She asked, "What do you propose?"_

_Flemeth replied, "Morrigan wishes my grimoire? Take it as a trophy. Tell her I am slain."_

_Solona didn't like the idea of lying to her friend, but with the information she had acquired she thought she could convince Morrigan that it had been the best path after all, if it came down to it. She replied, "I could do that."_

_Flemeth said with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "It's far easier this way, don't you think? The lies are always more fun."_

_Behind her, Solona heard Alistair quip sarcastically, "Yes. Fun. Tricking Morrigan." Then he said in a lighter tone, "Oh who am I kidding? That does sound fun! I'm a bad man."_

_As Solona was leaving with the grimoire, the old woman said to her, "You and I will meet again. That, I guarantee."_

* * *

An eerie screech drew her back to the present and she pulled her horse to an abrupt stop. Lusa was growling loudly at something ahead of them and Geralt had already dismounted, drawing his silver sword and stalking forward slowly, cresting a small hill ahead of them and heading down the road on the other side. She hopped down from her saddle and grabbed her staff from where it was anchored just in front of her stirrup.

She gestured with one hand, sending a quick offensive aura spell at Geralt before he left her line of sight, then crouched low and ran as quietly as she could to reach him. When she came over the hill she found him squatting next to the body of something that was vaguely human and female, but that had tattered wings and sharp, dirty claws at the ends of its hands and feet. She felt a mild revulsion when she realized he had cut out its eyes and was in the process of gutting it. She stood up suddenly. "What are you doing?" she asked, incredulous.

He kept working his knife into the creature's belly and said through teeth clenched with the effort, "Getting her eggs."

"Her... eggs... Did you have a sudden craving for an omelet or something?" she asked.

He smirked up at her. "No. Harpy eggs are a common ingredient in Witcher potions. And they're not exactly easy to stockpile so I get them when I can."

"And the eyes?" she asked, coughing into her hand and making an effort not to retch. "I suppose those are good for potions too?"

He laughed softly at her obvious disgust. "Yes, they are. That's the only thing monsters are good for... to Witchers anyway. If anyone else drank our potions they would probably be poisoned."

"That's not surprising," she muttered.

He stood up and stowed his prize in a leather pouch that hung at his hip and wiped his hands on a small, blood-stained rag that he stowed in the pouch as well. He turned to look at her, his mouth quirked up wryly, and asked, "Didn't you drink monster blood at one point? And what's in that  _lyrium_  stuff you threw in our bath the other night... I know it isn't some fancy soap."

She glared at him. "The darkspawn blood was a one-time thing. And  _lyrium_  is made from  _magic rocks_. Not... dead things." She sounded dejected when she added, "Anyway, I used the last of my lyrium to save your life and I doubt I'll be able to find more here."

He stepped forward and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. He looked into her eyes and said sincerely, "I'm sure we can find an alternative for you." Then with suppressed amusement he added, "Just be warned the main ingredient might be monster testicles."

She grinned at him vindictively, "As long as they're  _yours_ , I look forward to it."

* * *

They stopped near a small mountain lake to camp for the night. She sent Lusa off to hunt for their dinner. After he bounded off into the reeds Geralt asked, "He doesn't eat everything he kills?"

She finished clearing the few small rocks from their campsite, stacking them by the small firepit that they'd found already built, then answered. "Fereldan war hounds are bred for their intelligence as well as their battle prowess. He probably understands everything you tell him." She brushed her hands on her thighs and added, "That still doesn't mean he  _listens,_ but most of the time he does what I tell him. Especially in a fight. I can't even begin to count the number of times he's saved my life. "

Then she added with a grin, "Besides, he likes his meat cooked with seasonings and hasn't quite figured out how to do it himself."

About an hour later there were three small ducks roasting on a spit over their small fire, coated liberally with seasonings and dripping aromatic juices into the coals. Three drooling mouths sat watching impatiently, anticipating when they would be done and ready to eat. Solona breathed the aromas in deeply, as though she could gain sustenance through osmosis alone. Her stomach growled loudly. She couldn't believe how hungry she was, then remembered how sporadically she had eaten during the past few days. She had been very  _distracted_.

She looked across the fire to where Geralt lay on his bedroll with the grimoire open and cradled in one large hand. His pupils were dilated to large, round circles to accommodate the lack of adequate light.  _Must be handy,_  she thought, and got up to turn their supper once more.

She'd thought about placing her bedroll next to his at first, then stubbornly decided otherwise and unrolled it on the opposite side of the fire. He didn't seem to have noticed. She was perplexed by his distance, but she rationalized, thinking he must be so engrossed in the book that he wasn't thinking about other things.

* * *

Late in the evening after they had eaten, Geralt had gone back to reading, so engrossed in the revelations of the grimoire that he had been aware of very little else all evening. Finally he had to force himself to put it down. They were camping in the open and he needed to be alert to potential threats and the book was too much of a distraction. After he had closed the book and stowed it away in its protective cover again he noticed Solona sleeping on the other side of the camp near the lake and silently cursed himself for not paying more attention earlier.

"Solona?" the word came out more harshly than he had intended. She rolled over to face him, large golden eyes blinking slightly in question, her short white hair tousled from sleep. "You should sleep over here," he said, gesturing to his side of the fire. She creased her brows at him. "There might be drowners in the lake," he explained. "It would be better if you were"  _closer to me "_ further away from the water." The thought came reflexively and he immediately suppressed it. He wanted her near him, and even after only a few hours of the only marginal distance between them that was necessitated by travel, he was beginning to feel an ache over the separation. But he had discovered in the grimoire that it might be prudent to maintain more control over their intimacy, even if it was just for his own sanity, although there may be other reasons he wasn't prepared to contemplate yet.

She turned her head silently and looked at the lake. The water was lapping peacefully onto the shore several yards from where she lay. She saw no sign of … anything, really. If it were summertime it might be a nice place for a midnight skinnydip.  _Too cold now, though_ , she thought. Wordlessly, she got up and gathered her bed into her arms, then arranged it back on the ground a few feet from where Geralt lay. She snuggled back under her covers and drifted off to sleep finally.

She was awakened some time later by rustling noises in the nearby reeds and the sound of wet, raspy breathing, interspersed by strange gurgling sounds. The fire had gone out, so she only had the stars above and a crescent moon for illumination. She could see faint outlines of shambling humanoid figures in the dark. She jumped slightly at the sensation of hot breath by her ear, then felt a soft squeeze of her shoulder and heard Geralt whisper to her, "Ssshhh, don't move. I'll take care of them." His sudden closeness made her skin tingle. When she felt him slip away into the shadows, she quietly pushed down her covers and sat up, trying to make out the shapes in the darkness.

She could see Geralt's shadow, crouching nearby with his silver sword reflecting what little light was present. He moved slowly and deftly towards the figures. When he got close to the first group he whipped his sword around in a blur, slicing at several of the creatures at once. They flinched back and cried out indignantly at the injuries, but kept advancing, hands flailing out and trying to grab at their attacker. Geralt retreated a few steps, and when he did she flung her hand out and a gout of flame erupted from the center of her palm, illuminating their campsite in a sudden wash of red-orange light. The creatures were engulfed in flames and emitted loud, gurgling screams. Several of the flaming bodies fell into shallow water with a splash, and she heard the sounds of fleeing footsteps smacking through the lakeside muck in the darkness.

Afterwards, she got up and re-lit the fire, adding a few more substantial pieces of wood to it to fend off the chill night air, then sat huddled in her blanket a few feet from the crackling blaze. She could hear Geralt rustling around in the reeds for a few moments and heard a few scattered curses, then he came back to their campsite with a scowl on his face.

"Is something wrong?" she asked apprehensively. "They're dead, aren't they?"

He set his sword down near his bedroll then sat down, shaking his head and laughing softly. "Yes, they're dead... the ones who didn't run away, anyway. And no, nothing's wrong, really... it's just that there was nothing left of them but charcoal after that spell you threw at them. Nothing  _useful_ , anyway."

She winced slightly. "Oh," she said, chagrined. "Sorry... I didn't think... what parts do you take from them?"

"Their brains, and sometimes their essence," he replied.

She contemplated quietly for a moment, then said, "So, I'm guessing I should quit using my fire spells against everything we encounter, then?"

"Not entirely, no. Just be a little more conservative about it... maybe just  _singe_ them a bit, rather than burning them to ash. You have other spells, I hope?"

She nodded, trying to think of some alternatives. Aside from the few entropy spells she used, she had become so accustomed to using primal spells as her primary offensive school that she was rusty with the others. She remembered her uncle teaching her and Garrett advanced force spells when she was younger, which she had always enjoyed using but had avoided because her cousin had seemed to prefer that school and she had an irrational need to do something different. Oddly, it wasn't a school of magic that was taught at the Circle so she had instead continued to focus on primal and creation magic while she was there. She thought it might be a good opportunity to practice it again. Maybe she would test it out in the morning.

After a brief silence she asked, "So... why did we camp here anyway, if you knew there were monsters in the lake?"

He shrugged and replied, "Drowners are just a nuisance. They wouldn't really be able to hurt us unless we were caught off guard. They won't be back tonight after your little light show."

She recalled the night she and Lusa had been attacked at their camp by some other unusual creatures and decided to tell him about it. After she had described their fight in detail to him, he said grimly, "Graveirs... They like to suck the marrow from the bones of the dead... and the living sometimes, too." Then he asked, "Did you use your fire spell to kill them? That would be one creature where fire would be preferred. Their bones are the only really useful parts."

She thought back for a moment and said, "No, actually. I was in the middle of the woods at the time so it just seemed like a bad idea to start setting things on fire. Lusa killed one of them by ripping its throat out, and I turned the others to stone, then blasted them to pieces. I  _might_  have burned one, though..." He chuckled softly and she looked back at him confused until he explained. "It sounds like you managed to use the exact spell that would have made them utterly useless to a Witcher."

She scowled at him and said, "Well they were  _dead_  at the end and that seemed way more important at the time."

He smiled at her and said, "Yes, survival should always be your primary goal. But as a Witcher you need to take other things into account. Every monster has a weakness, and every monster possesses in its anatomy certain components that we value and that we can use in potions to enhance our own abilities."

He paused for a few moments, and his expression grew somber when he finally said, "Some special creatures have other components … mutagens ... we need those to complete the trials." He'd been dwelling on the idea of her trials and how she would react to them. He understood that his own trials had been easy relative to other Witchers, but they were still incredibly painful. It was insinuated that his genetics were particularly suited to the transformations the mutagens inflicted on him. He hoped that it was the same case for her. He wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone he cared about, and he admitted to himself that he was beginning to care for her, in spite of the short time he had known her so far. There was something about her that struck a chord in him. Similar to the feeling he would get when encountering something or someone linked to his lost memories, but this felt deeper.

"Geralt?" she asked, quietly, breaking the short silence, "What was it you were doing this morning, in front of the fireplace?"

"I was meditating," he replied. Responding to her look of curiosity, he elaborated, "Witchers can get by on very little sleep, but we still need to replenish our stamina periodically. I'd been up most of the night reading so I needed about an hour near dawn to meditate - otherwise I would have been falling asleep in the saddle on the road today." She nodded in understanding. He felt a little guilty about leaving out the other details. While he was reading the book, he had come across some particular details related to the prophecy that worried him and had subsequently made him think that continued intimacy with her during her trials might be dangerous. He wasn't ready to talk to her about the details, but had decided it would be wise to start distancing himself from her sooner rather than later. He had meditated to try to regain some semblance of focus and self control while he was around her.

He looked over at her and saw her cocooned in her blanket, with her head propped up on one hand at the wrong end of her bedroll and staring mesmerized at the flickering flames of their campfire. She was toying with her amulet with her other hand and had a sad, distant look on her face that made his heart twist.  _What was she doing to him?_  "Solona," he said, and she jerked slightly at being roused from her thoughts, then turned to look at him expectantly. He wasn't sure what he'd been planning to say but suddenly he was hearing words come out of his mouth unbidden, "Why don't you sleep by me?" A little voice in his head said,  _Well, so much for self control._  He was rewarded with a small smile from her that lit up her face and seemed to say,  _I thought you would never ask_. She gathered up her bed for the second time that night and laid it down next to his.

After everything was arranged comfortably and another log added to the fire, they lay down under the covers, bodies close but barely touching, Solona facing away from him towards the fire with her head cushioned on one arm. His stomach roiled with the conflict. Had he lost control entirely? But he rationalized, telling himself that there was nothing he could do about it until he knew for certain it would be an issue.  _When we get to Kaer Morhen, I'll talk to her about it_ , he resolved.

He shifted his body closer to hers and tilted his head down, inhaling the delicate woodsy scent of her skin. She responded instantly, shifting back against him and entwining her fingers through his hand as it rested on her hip, pulling it up to her breast. He kissed the side of her neck gently and pulled the cloth of her light undertunic down to gain access to her flesh. The feel of her skin under his hand was like a taste of cold water on a hot day, and he hadn't realized until now how thirsty he had been.

At the same time, Solona was thinking,  _This is better than a summer skinnydip,_  in response to the feel of his hands on her again. And they dove in and went for a midnight swim.

* * *

Geralt awoke to the sound of pebbles clattering against each other and soft feminine curses. He opened his eyes and saw her standing fully dressed on the other side of their dormant campfire. She was making small gestures with her hands and he could see a cluster of rocks on the ground in front of her being cast about. She stooped down and arranged the rocks until she was satisfied, then stood back and gestured at them with both hands, making a simple motion as though parting a veil. He detected a subtle blue glow covering her palms before an invisible force erupted in the center of the cluster and the rocks were thrown out in a radius around it. He heard her whisper, "Yes!" and then she resumed her concentration on the rocks, gesturing with her hands again, but this time in the opposite direction, ending with a small clap when her palms came together. The rocks that had previously been cast apart suddenly slammed together again, some of them shattering into smaller pieces in a burst of dust, and everything landing in a heap at her feet.

"Impressive," he said. He saw her shoulders tense briefly at the realization that she had an audience, then she dropped her hands to her side, turning to him with a shrug. "I thought I'd try out some different spells. I'm a little rusty at these so figured it would be good to practice.

He stood up and threw on his trousers and shirt, then walked over to stand beside her. "Will you show me?" he asked.

She nodded and prepared to give him a small demonstration of the various force magic spells she knew. He stopped her when she started gesturing at the rocks and said, "I think you're ready for a full-sized subject. Try one on me."

She raised an eyebrow at him and asked, "Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you."

He smiled back at her with confidence and said, "Don't worry, I know a healer."

She shrugged and changed positions, indicating for him to stand in a certain spot, then changed her mind and said, "Wait, take off your clothes, and stand over there," she pointed at the sandy shore of the lake.

"If you say so," he said, and disrobed down to his light breeches and went to stand where she had instructed.

"I hope you're not afraid of getting wet," he heard her say a split second before the full force of her spell hit him, knocking the wind out of him and throwing him backwards into the icy water with a huge splash. He came up sputtering a couple seconds afterwards and then he felt it happening again. He felt his head snap backwards on his neck at the force and his body flew through the air towards the shore. The next thing he knew he was sprawled on the sandy ground by their campfire with Solona kneeling by him, a concerned expression on her face. "I didn't hurt you did I?"

"I fucking hate magic," he muttered as he sat up and was answered by a small laugh from her as she threw a blanket around his shoulders.

"I'd like to remind you that it was your idea to be the guinea pig," she said. "Now you know why I made you stand by the water." He sat by the nonexistent fire and shivered in response.

She restarted the fire and heated up the broth they had made from the remains of their dinner the previous evening, which they devoured for breakfast along with a few of the hard biscuits. While they were eating, Solona asked, "So, do you think those spells will be better suited to killing monsters?"

He nodded at her and looking thoughtful asked, "The spell you just used on me, can it affect multiple targets?"

She nodded and said, "It's designed for groups, actually, and spreads the damage between the targets. The reeds were unfortunate enough to be in the blast with you earlier." She gestured to the side of the lake and he looked over to see a flattened ring of foliage near where their test had occurred.

She continued, "I know a focused spell for a single target, but wouldn't want to test it on someone I  _liked_ , since I'm still getting used to the amount of magical power I can draw from in this world."

In illustration, she gestured with one hand towards one of the larger rocks by the side of the fireplace. He watched as it rose up into the air, flew several yards backwards, and then slammed into the ground with an earsplitting crack. He stopped chewing his breakfast for a second and got up to look. When he found the impact point he stood in obvious admiration at the hole in the ground that had resulted from the spell. The rock was embedded about a foot deep in the wet sand and had been shattered into pieces.

"Thank you for not trying that on me," he looked at her appraisingly and she met his gaze with a smug little smirk, replying, "Living targets are a little tougher than inanimate objects that don't have a will of their own. It would have still hurt, but you would have survived... probably."

"Either way, remind me never to piss you off," he said, clearly impressed.

* * *

They continued north, heading first east along the Pontar River, then up the Northern Road into the heart of Kaedwen. The weather was surprisingly clear but as they traversed the higher altitudes they began erecting a tent to sleep in more frequently to ward off the growing chill in the air. When they were camped in the evenings Geralt continued to pore over the grimoire in detail while Solona began studying the bestiaries Geralt offered her so she could gain a better understanding of monsters they might face as they traveled. The road they were on stretched through mountainous wilderness that was teeming with a variety of mostly nasty creatures and they weren't afraid of people. Learning that she was also fairly adept at alchemy, he gave her books on the local flora along with his notes on the combinations that made the best potions and what their various qualities were.

"You have the worst handwriting I've ever seen," she told him one evening after squinting at one of the notebooks. "Actually, no, that's not true. Alistair has worse handwriting than you. Yours I can actually read if I look at it long enough." She turned the book sideways and squinted at the writing as if rotating it could help her decipher the words.

She was laying on her back with her head at the foot of her bedroll resting on Lusa's slumbering form as he lay just outside the small tent they shared. She continued trying to study his potion recipes in the dim light of the growing dusk and the only slightly brighter light of the fire. Geralt set the grimoire down and rolled forward gracefully onto his knees, craning his neck to see what she was reading.

"Which parts can't you read?" She leaned towards him and set the book down in between them, pointing at several lines of scribbles interspersed with odd characters sketched in colored ink. He read it aloud to her, his breath tickling her ear and making concentration a slight challenge.

She nodded when he was finished. "I got that part, but what to these little marks mean?"

"Those are the classifications of the ingredients' properties. Different plants can share the same properties - and so can the ingredients harvested from monsters. The potion recipes just list the generic properties required to make it, not the names of the plants." He picked up his field notebook and opened it to a page, laying it in her lap and pointing at the small symbol in the corner of a page that had a beautifully detailed sketch of a mountain flower she had seen him pick several times during their trip. "See, here... this corresponds to that," he pointed back at a section of the recipe. He picked up the bestiary and opened it to the page on drowners she had been reading earlier and pointed at the same symbol next to a list of the creature's harvestable parts.

She nodded in understanding and turned her head to smile at him. She felt a familiar, invisible spark pass between them when their eyes met that made her smile widen, but she turned back to the bestiary he'd laid in her lap and flipped through the pages, still curious to learn more. She settled on a page with the title of " _Frightener_ " in neat script at the top and Geralt's telltale scrawl filling the margins. "Is this one of the mutagens you've told me about that we need for the trials? Will we have to kill one of these things?"

Her second question sounded a little too eager for his comfort. He gave her a sidelong glance that flashed with concern. "Yes... that  _is_ one of the mutagens you'll need, but with any luck we won't need to actually go  _hunting_ a Frightener to get it. I'm fairly certain we still have some left at Kaer Morhen from the last time I had to kill one." When she looked disappointed he said in an admonishing tone, "Solona, these aren't creatures you want to go hunting if you can help it. They'll tear you apart if you don't have enough force to beat them. It took four Witchers to kill the last one I met."

She looked back at him, irritated at his tone. The serious expression she saw on his face made her temper the sarcastic response she'd been about to give him. She shrugged, "I know... I suppose I've just been getting a little bored with the things we've been fighting so far." He creased his brow at her, his expression becoming dark.  _Does she have a fucking death wish?_

Recognizing his expression she tried to explain, "Geralt, you have to understand. I spent the last year before I came here fighting creatures not unlike those  _Graveir's_ on a daily basis. I'm pretty used to fighting deadly shit. It's pretty much commonplace for me anymore and my day isn't complete if I haven't seen my life flash before my eyes at least once. I'm not saying that's a  _good_  thing... that's just how I'm built, I guess." Trying to lighten the mood again, she concluded in a mildly suggestive tone, lowering her eyelashes at him, "I guess you could say I've acquired a taste for danger."

Resolving to reserve opinion and accept her conciliation, he smiled at her indulgently and returned to his earlier spot at the other end of their bedrolls. "Keep reading," he said. "Finish the chapter on Witchers and learn our weaknesses. Then I'll show you some  _danger_."

She pouted at him playfully, "But I didn't think Witchers  _had_ weaknesses. You're supposed to be unscrupulous scoundrels from hell, capable only of killing." He scowled at her. She sulked. "You scowl too much," she said. "Anyway, I don't need to read a book to figure out your weaknesses." She reached out a hand to tickle the sole of one large, bare foot that rested just beside her. She thought she saw the smallest flinch but otherwise he didn't show any response. "You're no fun," she said and flipped over onto her belly, using Lusa's sturdy, sleeping form as a bookrest, and went back to reading about Frighteners.

When she turned over and was facing away from him, Geralt sat deep in thought while he watched her read.  _I didn't think I had any weaknesses either, until recently._  He had learned a lot about her over the past couple weeks, much of it surprising and frequently confounding him with contradiction. She was very young, by Witcher standards, and she had a refreshingly youthful, energetic attitude about most things, which was at odds with her pragmatic attitude about life in general and her single-minded drive to follow through with her ultimate goal.

She was eager to learn and seemed to value his approval but tended to take it personally when his opinion turned out to be contrary to her own, almost becoming unreasonably self righteous and hanging on to a point until it was bludgeoned to death and he finally relented.  _She'll be the death of me,_  he had thought on more than one occasion after such an argument.

She was an incredibly powerful sorceress which she had the opportunity to demonstrate on multiple occasions, but was also wickedly adept at using the strange staff she carried that he learned was crafted from a carved dragon bone (one she had killed, no less), one end of which had been forged into a sharp blade extending right out of the bone itself.

He had the sense that she had grown accustomed to being the leader, if her stories from her world were any indication. He had gathered from her stories of her home that she had led a fairly close-knit band of warriors on her previous mission, and eventually an entire army. It seemed that she was struggling with the transition to working with someone who was her equal rather than her subordinate, but she was gradually becoming more comfortable with their partnership.

What would happen to their partnership after the final ritual was complete remained to be seen. He was nearly finished reading the grimoire and there were few clues letting him know what to expect, and those he found were disheartening. He'd only known her for a few short weeks and their journey was still only beginning, but he was already brooding about the day it would inevitably end.

To her credit, she hadn't needled him about what he had learned in the grimoire. She had seemed fairly intuitive from the very beginning, sensing his moods and understanding when he needed her help or input and when it was best to stay on the sidelines and keep quiet. It was especially helpful in the few nastier fights they had encountered. They had met a deranged troll earlier in the week, and she had cautioned him before he attempted to try to reason with it, which was his normal course of action with creatures he knew were capable of higher brain function, as trolls were. Her intuition had been correct and they had unfortunately been forced to fight the troll. He had drawn the brunt of its attacks and had taken a pounding, but she had somehow been able to sense his body's hurts and had bolstered his health and defenses with her spells. He knew he could have prevailed on his own, but her presence had meant the difference between him leaving the fight broken and bloodied, versus walking away with only some minor bruises. That fight had increased his already considerable respect for her, and he had made a point to  _appreciate_  her thoroughly when they had camped later that evening, much to her delight.

Focusing back on the present, his gaze lingered on her. At the moment she was wearing the light tunic she preferred to wear when she slept, and her bare legs were stretched out behind her on her bedroll, feet crossed at the ankles. His eyes followed the length of her, admiring the lithe form he'd become so well acquainted with over the past couple weeks. When his eyes reached her feet a wicked grin began to spread across his face. He reached out a hand and ever so softly traced his fingertips up the sole of one foot. He was rewarded by a loud yelp as she leaped into the air and spun around, her look of surprise turning indignant when she realized the source of the benign assault. Her outburst awakened Lusa who stood up, abruptly on the defensive, and made a soft woof of inquiry. Unable to contain himself, Geralt sat laughing at her outburst. "It looks like I found one of  _your_  weaknesses," he said between bouts of hearty laughter.

Her ire dissipated a bit and she gave him a quizzical look. She didn't think she'd ever heard him laugh like that before. She'd heard his few brief, ironic outbursts, but nothing like the pure unadulterated  _glee_  that she heard now. He was obviously pleased with himself, the bastard. She glared at him. "You just wait, mister. I'll get you when you least expect it. You haven't  _seen_  dangerous yet."

"Is that a promise?" he asked with uncensored mirth as his laughter finally subsided.

She whispered something to Lusa then climbed under her blankets and turned away from him, a small, satisfied smile on her face. A moment later Lusa came into the tent and flopped his bulky form in between them, claiming a significant amount of real estate for himself. Geralt thought he heard her whisper, "Good boy." He looked down at the dog with a furrowed brow. Lusa looked back at him and gave him a small, conciliatory lick on the hand, then laid his head on his paws with a vaguely apologetic expression and closed his eyes.

* * *

Geralt had still said very little about what he had read since his revelation about Flemeth. Instead of letting it get to her, Solona just bided her time. She understood that it would take them several more weeks before they reached Kaer Morhen, even though Geralt had agreed to take no more contracts on the trip north. He had been hesitant to agree to that at first, explaining that the contracts were his livelihood and he needed to be able to afford enough supplies to bring back to the fortress to last through the winter. She convinced him that it was no longer a necessity when she showed him the generous amount of gold she had received prior to leaving her own world. It had in reality only been a modest sum by Fereldan standards, but was worth far more in this world and so she had ample funds to see them through their journey in addition to supplying them for the winter with anything they would need.

So they continued north without stopping in towns unless they needed supplies. In the middle of one sunny day about two weeks into their journey, Geralt urged his horse to a stop, then rode off the craggy road up a barely discernable path through the trees and brush for nearly a mile before stopping at a small clearing canopied by large, old trees.

"We'll camp here tonight," he said.

She objected, "But it's still midday... we have at least four more hours of decent light to travel by."

"There's something nearby that I want to show you," he said.

Sensing that this was important to him, she dismounted and tended to her horse before helping him set up camp. She had learned that he was rarely so decisive about things that were inconsequential.

After their small camp was set up and a small firepit built up with wood and ready for lighting she turned to him and asked, "Well? Where is this thing you want to show me?" She was a little bit giddy with excitement because this was the first deviation from their trip since they had started off two weeks earlier, aside from one brief trip into a town to buy supplies.

His look was inscrutable. "Follow me," was all he said, so she did.

He led her to an overgrown path at the edge of their camp. Lusa followed along, sniffing at the ground and occasionally bounding off into the underbrush on the hunt for something. The path meandered up a wooded hillside and eventually emerged into a clearing on a small hilltop with a breathtaking view of the valley they had travelled so far. Even more breathtaking, however, were the Elven ruins that surrounded them on the hilltop. There was very little left of them aside from a large, circular marble slab inlaid with an intricate mosaic that was surprisingly clear of moss or other debris, and was surrounded by the remains of what she realized had once been seven large columns, the largest fragments of which were about head-high to her. It reminded her briefly of the ruins from her dreams, but she knew it wasn't the same place - those ruins still had some semblance of a roof, and these were open to the sky.

She stepped back to the edge of the slab to get a better look at the scene inlaid on its surface and was shocked to realize that the scene before her was the same scene depicted on her amulet. She turned to Geralt to tell him about it and stood blinking at the empty space where he had stood just a moment ago. He had left her here alone. While she was contemplating what his absence might mean she heard the flap of large wings from behind her and turned just in time to see a large flying form condense into the shape of a woman.

She recognized her instantly, and was immediately on the offensive, readying her most powerful spell to throw at the woman.

Flemeth admonished in her dry, even voice, "Gwynrhena, child... You should know by now that you cannot simply kill me."

Solona amped up the power in her spell, the flame held in her palm turning white with heat, and glared at the witch. "I could certainly give it a good try. I might be satisfied if it just resulted in you being maimed."

Flemeth looked amused and then sighed, saying, "I suppose I owe you an explanation. The grimoire is light on details where some events are concerned."

Solona retorted bitterly, "An explanation. Hah! That's an understatement. You owe me atonement."

The woman stood as still and quiet as the broken stone pillars that surrounded them. The light breeze that fluttered through Solona's hair and cloak didn't seem to even touch the witch.

Finally she said, "You should understand by now that nothing I do is by accident. My motives are driven first by certain things that are beyond my control, and second by my desire to see our worlds persist. You should know that you are the greatest hope for everyone. You have exceeded even my hopes for my own daughter."

Solona was impatient and angry, "I've heard this before. What do you really want to tell me before I maim you?"

Flemeth was unapologetic when she answered, "The trials you have undergone in your life were necessary to bring you here. There have been a few individuals who were privy to the details because it was necessary to ensure you chose the right paths. Your uncle was one of those people. His death was regrettable, but unavoidable."

Solona yelled, furious, "But you killed him!"

"No, child, I did not. I merely enlightened him of his condition and gave him a choice. He could have let you and young Hawke heal him. He would have lived, and remained the dominant force in both your lives. Or he could use his remaining energy to prevent that, to ensure that the two of you would follow different paths. Paths that would lead each of you to your true callings."

"My path led me straight to  _hell_. You do realize that, don't you? How in the world was it a good idea to send me to the Circle? Malcolm Hawke is still the best teacher I've ever had."

"Ah, but you did learn valuable lessons there."

"Lessons?" she asked, incredulous. "Is that what you call what they did to me?"

"Not everything was my doing, child. Some of what happened to you there was unfortunate, but the bulk of it was necessary. You need to let it go. Carrying that darkness inside you will make it impossible for you to succeed in this endeavor."

"Let it go?" Solona yelled back at her, irrational fury overtaking her. "Let  _this_  go, bitch." She let the fireball fly, only to watch it pass through empty air and strike the column that stood on the opposite side of the ruins, causing the column to crack down the center and leaving a large scorch mark behind.

Flemeth gradually reappeared in the space she had been a moment earlier. She looked at Solona appraisingly, making no comment on the attack she had just effortlessly dodged. "Your power is increasing here, you should be careful or you might have trouble controlling it. Especially with that temper of yours, be careful you don't hurt someone who matters to you, child."

Solona stood, mouth agape and sorely tempted to hurl another spell at the woman, but reason took over finally. She couldn't let the woman keep pushing her buttons. "Was that all you wanted to tell me? How you killed my uncle?" she asked, her voice strained with the effort of holding back the urge to rain down hellfire on the figure standing before her.

"That is not all. You might be interested to know that your former 'family' made it safely to Kirkwall... well most of them, anyway. That poor, foolish girl..." Flemeth trailed off.

"Bethany? What did you do to her!"

"Oh, I did nothing but save their lives as they attempted to escape the Blight, but I was too late to save her before she ran into the waiting arms of an ogre. It was rather heroic, really... she was trying to protect her brothers and her mother. You made quite an impression on her you know."

Solona felt a painful twist of grief inside her at the news. She should have been there to help them, somehow. But for the life of her she couldn't think of how. "What was I supposed to do?" she finally asked, weakly.

Flemeth sounded almost comforting when she said, "Nothing more than you did, child. You saved so many more than died. And this endeavor will save the rest if you see it through."

Solona took a deep breath, pushing aside her grief. "I will see this through," she said with bitter conviction.

"Yes, I know you will... You and my beautiful boy, who turned into more than I could have ever hoped for in spite of his father's attempts to corrupt him. The two of you are truly kindred souls." Flemeth's smile seemed almost maternal, which was vaguely creepy.

Solona needed to know one thing. "What is it you're hoping to get out of all this, anyway?"

"Why, the continued existence of these worlds I love so much, of course. What else?"

"I know better than that... I do believe you love the worlds you live in... between... or whatever... but I don't believe that's your only motive for checking up on me. What do you really want out of this?"

Flemeth was thoughtful for a moment, "The same thing anyone wants... Immortality. I want my blood to live on when I am gone."

"But you're  _already immortal_ , Flemeth. Why does this matter to you at all?"

Flemeth gave her a sorrowful look. "You will understand soon enough. Just know that no one can truly be immortal without a special kind of magic, and very few manage to find it, while fewer still manage to hold on to it. I found it only once in this world but it was ripped from me, the remnants scattered to the winds. The only thing I have to show for it is a certain white-haired champion who you have so recently been sharing your bed with. It truly warms my heart to see the two of you taking to each other so... completely. See that you hold on to it."

"And before you ask, no, it is not a coincidence that the two of you are uniquely suited to the task at hand. You both possess the Elder blood, among other unique qualities, whether you like it or not, so you are ideal for the purpose of preserving the souls of the last two old gods."

Solona snorted softly, "Tell me something I don't know. Like what happens after this is all over."

"Ah, child. There is so much you still have yet to learn. I think you will find that your White Wolf is an excellent teacher, among his many other talents. He has had plenty of time to learn, after all. As for what happens after, that is not something I can tell you now, but a choice you will have to make when the time comes. And it will not be an easy choice, either. Just know that your responsibilities will not end after the ritual. Try to remember what is important."

Flemeth's form began to emit a subtle glow and her edges began to fade and shift. Before Solona's eyes the witch became a large, white bird that extended its wings and caught the next soft breeze blowing through, ascending into the air and gliding away over the sunlit valley that lay before her.

Solona stood for a moment, silently cursing the woman, then turned to head back down to camp. When she turned she was surprised by Geralt standing quietly at the edge of the ruins, a pained look on his face, staring at the spot that Flemeth had recently vacated. She walked over to him and laid a hand gently on his arm. "Geralt, are you alright?" He shook his head, but she couldn't tell whether it was in answer or if it was an attempt to shake a bad feeling. "Don't let her get to you... she's just being... Flemeth." She shrugged and rubbed his arm trying to comfort him. He turned to look at her and his expression softened considerably. He let out a long sigh and said, "There's a lot I need to tell you."

He turned and walked along the edge of the ruins, stopping to rest on a fallen column facing the center of the large marble slab. Solona followed suit, sitting next to him. He remained quiet for several seconds, staring off into the distance. In an effort to draw him out, Solona asked, "Do you want to tell me what upset you just now?" He turned to look at her and took a deep breath. "It was the mention of my father. I never knew who he was, but now I have a pretty good idea." Solona nodded, "Not good news, I take it." He shook his head and grimaced, "Quite the opposite. And I have a feeling it's going to come back to haunt me."

She nodded again, unsure whether she should pry. Deciding it would be best to let it go, she asked instead, "Did you know she would be there when you brought me up here?" He nodded and explained, "At the end of the grimoire was a set of instructions for me. They were strangely specific, considering I only read them last night and we were just a few hours from the place mentioned... this place." He gestured at the ruins before them. She laughed softly, "She's just full of surprises, isn't she?"

He smiled faintly, then without preamble he began to talk.

"The ritual... It has to happen at Midsummer, during a full moon. That's the part you know. The part you don't know is that it is a sort of fertility ritual." He paused and let that sink in. He looked at her and saw the question forming on her lips and shook his head. "I don't know the answer to that. I thought we were infertile, too, but there's no doubt that I'm the one who is supposed to complete the ritual with you." She sat quietly waiting for him to continue. "The grimoire mentioned another ritual that Flemeth's daughter performed." Solona nodded in recognition. She remembered  _that_  particular ritual. He continued, "It will be a similar ritual, but more involved. I'll show you the book later where it outlines the exact instructions for the ritual so you know what to expect." She asked suddenly, unable to hold back, "Are you sure it isn't just a  _symbolic_  sort of fertility ritual? I mean... why... when the two of us will already be there..."

"I'm sure, " he answered. "And Flemeth left out some details when she was talking to you just now. I'm not the second... vessel... The child is. I think it might be because I'm not human enough. If you consider my parentage that's not at all surprising. But most likely it's because the old gods are already drawn to you."

Solona took a moment to process what he was telling her. "So how does that  _work_  exactly?" He looked at her with a quirked smile and one eyebrow raised. She shot him an exasperated look, "I know how  _that_  works. But the whole  _soul magnet_ deal. How does that part work?" He shrugged. "The ritual is pretty detailed. The location has a lot to do with it, and the fact that the old gods are drawn to you already. The first part of the ritual involves...ah... _readying the vessel_." She saw him smirk a little at his choice of words and give her a sidelong glance, but she understood his meaning. "That's where I... um...  _come in_." Thinking he was just a little too entertained by his own wit, she elbowed him solidly in the ribs. He struggled to suppress his amusement and ward off any further assault from her as he continued to explain. He took a deep breath and held his side with a wince. "The second part of the ritual involves you calling to them to bring their souls to this world. They answer the call and, I guess, that's that."

"And then I get to hang around and wait for nine months for a god baby..." she said sulkily. He could sympathize with her on that point. He gazed at her in earnest. "I promise I'll stay with you as long as you need me."

She gazed back at him and creased her brow, thinking,  _This man is destined to father my baby._  She wondered if Morrigan had had the same thought before she and Alistair had consummated the ritual. But the difference was that Morrigan hadn't had to deal with the prospect of procreating with someone she actually cared about.  _Wait, that thinking is kindof backwards, you do realize,_  she told herself.  _If you care about him, you should want this, right?_  Shouldn't she? Well, yeah... she  _did_  like the idea of making a baby with him... in theory. The  _making_ part wasn't the issue because she was completely on board with  _that_. Her thighs quivered just thinking about it. The issue was that once it was over, she would be a different person... She realized then that no matter what happened, she would be a different person. It wasn't only the child that would be absorbing the soul of an old god. She would as well, and she hadn't even given any thought yet to how that might change her. Or him. It was likely that the entire process would change them both significantly. Not to mention the journey to get there.

"Geralt," she started hesitantly, "I don't know how this is going to turn out. I mean, I  _do_  know what  _needs_ to happen, and I fully intend to see it through..." she paused and stared at her hands for a moment before continuing, "but I don't know now how things will be between you and me at the end. I just know that  _right now_  I want you there, once it's all over. After that, I guess we'll have to see what happens."

He simply nodded at her in response, reaching out to grasp her hand inside his own. He drew it up to his mouth and planted a soft kiss in the center of her palm, then stood with his fingers still entwined in hers gesturing for her to join him to walk down the path back to their camp.


	13. The Best Friend

As they continued their journey, Geralt shared the things he had learned from the grimoire. He explained that the final ritual was to take place at an ancient Elven temple that rested atop one of the southern mountain ranges, the Amell Mountains. She remembered seeing the name in the grimoire and grew intensely interested when he mentioned the mountain range. He soon learned that "Amell" was actually her family name. "For what it's worth," she snorted softly. He didn't know how the mountains had gotten their name, but knew it probably couldn't be a mere coincidence that she had the same name.

Solona also shared stories with Geralt of her travels in Ferelden in her quest to end the Blight. She was unsure at first whether she ought to mention the details of her past relationship with the kingdom's current king, but decided that a policy of honesty between them was best. And for some reason she felt comfortable sharing with him details of her life that no one else had been privy to since her cousin. She hadn't had this kind of confidante since Garrett and it felt good to have someone to speak her deepest thoughts to who she knew wouldn't judge her for them. In some ways it was better, because Geralt was the best kind of neutral party to her past, having been entirely separated from any aspect of it even down to the smallest detail. When she told him about Alistair he had taken it in stride, but had asked some pointed questions that had given her pause.

"Did you love him?"

When he asked the question, she realized that no one, not even Alistair himself, had ever asked her before. And she honestly didn't know what the answer was.

She had looked so uncomfortable that Geralt had let it go. It was clear to him that this king of hers had loved her dearly and had also known her well enough to let her go without a fight. He couldn't help but admire the man for that. He had never been the jealous type but he had to admit to himself that he did envy Alistair's history with her, and was also secretly a little grateful because the other man's sacrifice had been so much to Geralt's benefit. He thought in the unlikely chance he ever met the other man, he would thank him.

Inevitably she began to ask about his own past, or what he remembered of it. She knew from Dandelion's ballads that he had lost his memory but was curious about the things he did remember. He hedged around the subject of his romantic entanglements. He didn't remember Yennefer beyond the sporadic dreams he would have of her, and his relationship with Triss had been complicated and had ended poorly. But Solona persisted once she sensed he was holding back, so he finally explained his understanding of the relationship he'd had with the sorceress Yennefer before he had lost his memory, and then his relationship with Triss after his resurrection.

"So, do you love her?... Triss, I mean."

 _Touché,_  he thought, and wondered why he had asked his question in the first place, because it really wasn't his business.

But he owed her an answer. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Triss has always been a good friend. She's put herself in harm's way for me on countless occasions and I would be ungrateful if I didn't say that I cared for her deeply."

Hoping to change the subject, he added, "You might get to meet her. We'll need a sorceress to assist with the second phase of the trials. I was planning to send a message to her once we reached Ard Carraigh."  _If she's still speaking to me, that is._

At the mention of the trials, Solona perked up. "Can you tell me more about the trials? It would be good to know what to expect."

He hesitated at first then decided there was no sense putting it off.

"There are three stages," he began to explain. "The first stage you can probably skip since you're clearly well trained enough to pass it with flying colors already. The second stage is normally the hardest... that's the actual Trial of the Grasses. If we have all the herbs required I'd like to get that over with as soon as we can. It involves a combination of herbal potions and magic to increase your reflexes." He paused, and gave her a concerned look before continuing in a subdued tone, "The trial of the grasses is what turned my hair white. That's the part that most initiates don't survive."

She looked over at him, sensing his pensive mood. "I'll be okay, Geralt," she said softly. "I know it worries you, but I truly believe it will work."

He gave her a hard look before he continued without comment. "The third stage is the mutations. Those will take the longest but should be easy unless we have to go hunt down and kill the monsters that have the mutagens we need, which is probably very likely."

She asked, "Well, what will we need? Is there anything we can gather on the way?"

"I don't know, really. We used to keep a stock of everything, but several years ago the fortress was raided and everything was stolen. We were able to retrieve most of our supplies but haven't conducted any trials in the intervening years so I'm not sure what we actually have in the lab at the moment. To be honest, I haven't been back to Kaer Morhen since we restored the lab."

She looked back at him, brow creased. "So, what if we assume we have nothing... except for maybe the Frightener eyes you're so sure are there... would it be feasible to start hunting for the mutagens now? Do you know where to find them?"

He knew she was right. It's what he would have suggested anyway if he hadn't been in such a hurry to get to Vesemir to find answers to the question of Witcher fertility. Knowing they would need to travel to the southern mountain ranges by next Midsummer meant they had little time to spare.

"Yes," he said. "I know where to find some of them. At least the ones between here and Kaer Morhen. There may be a couple in Ard Carraigh... Some monsters prefer sewers and the city would be the best place to find them."

She grinned at him. "So I guess we're going to hunt some monsters!" He grumbled inwardly at her overenthusiastic attitude towards searching out danger. It was one thing to travel around hunting contracts. Those were usually fairly easy. But hunting for the types of monsters that held the mutagens was different. They were usually very nasty creatures and required a much higher level of focus to kill. His one consolation was that she was exceptional in a fight so he wasn't worried that they'd be able to take on any of the creatures. The trick was to find them.

* * *

They arrived in Kaedwen's capital, the city of Ard Carraigh, a few days after Solona's meeting with Flemeth. They stabled their horses near the inn, then split up, Solona going off in one direction with Lusa following behind to find the trade quarter and buy them supplies, and Geralt heading towards the inn to find them rooms for the next couple nights.

Geralt's instructions to Solona had included the purchase of a pack animal to carry additional supplies to Kaer Morhen, so she ended up traipsing around the terraced city for a good hour trying to find what he requested. Once she secured the mule, she continued with the rest of her shopping, leading the obstinate beast behind her and loading it up with supplies she purchased on the way. Oddly, the beast became more and more compliant the more weight it carried, so by the time she was finished buying their supplies it seemed like the most docile creature in the world as she led it back to the inn. She promised the stableboy a generous tip to ensure their supplies would see it through the night and went inside.

It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dim light in the main room. She heard Lusa make a soft whoof of recognition. She assumed it was Geralt he saw and followed the dog into the room, stopping suddenly when she saw the familiar purple plume waving like a flag in the center of the room.

* * *

Geralt had stepped into the inn shortly after their arrival with the hope of simply securing a room and then going up to take a nap. Meditation was useful after all, but there was still nothing better than a nice, leisurely nap to restore one's energy, especially a nap in a real bed after days of traveling. After he'd paid for the room he was about to head up the stairs with their gear when he heard an all too familiar voice call out his name.

"Geralt! I thought that was you. How fortunate!"

His shoulders tensed briefly but he made an effort to look pleased and turned around slowly. "Dandelion... it's been too long." It had in truth been little more than a month since they had seen each other in Vizima, but their meeting had been brief and they hadn't taken time to catch up.

They hugged heartily and Dandelion stood back looking at his friend. He tilted his head and with a quizzical look said, "You look different somehow. Be careful you don't change too much, my friend, or else I'll have to write different songs." Dandelion laughed jovially and patted his friend on the back. He gestured over to the table he'd already reserved for the evening and sat, waving a hand to catch the attention of a nearby serving girl.

Geralt joined him, grabbing the chair facing the door, and ordered an ale from the serving girl that came by. The pretty young woman smiled at them coquettishly and fluttered her eyelids at the Witcher. Dandelion observed with interest that Geralt seemed unusually disinterested in the girl who was so clearly flaunting her assets at him. Something was going on with his friend and he was determined to draw it out of him.

They chatted for awhile about this and that. Geralt asked if Dandelion had seen Triss while he was in Vizima and learned that she had resumed her role as royal council - and guardian - for the late king's only living heir, Anais, who was a mere child of seven.

Dandelion asked, "What happened between you two, anyway? I was sure the two of you had finally figured out how to make it work. It was an inspiration, really. But I take it my impression was incorrect."

Geralt shook his head and sighed. "It was a difference of opinions. And we were both too hard-headed to concede to the other."

Dandelion nodded in understanding and asked expectantly, "So there's no chance you two will set aside your differences and make up?"

Geralt's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Dandelion, I hardly think Triss sees you that way."

The bard looked mildly shocked at the implied accusation. "What? No, you misunderstand. Triss is a great friend, I wouldn't jeopardize that by pursuing anything deeper. And besides, I'm just bad at relationships. No, the reason I ask is because there was a  _rumor_  that she was spending time with a certain other Witcher you know."

This surprised Geralt. There were only two possibilities for who it could be. Eskel, who was the closest thing to a brother Geralt had ever known; or Lambert, who he always believed secretly had a thing for Triss but who only ever managed to antagonize her.  _If it is Eskel, good for him._

Dandelion let out a small, breath he'd been holding, uncertain as to the response Geralt would have to the news that Triss was seeing someone new. "You seem... relieved."

Geralt shrugged and said, "She deserves to be happy. If Eskel can do that for her then he has my blessing." He paused, looking pointedly at his friend, "It  _is_  Eskel, I take it?"

Dandelion nodded.

"He's a good man. I wish them the best."

Dandelion was perplexed. He would have thought the man would take the news a bit harder than he had, he and Triss had been so close for so long. There was definitely something up with him.

Then Dandelion remembered that he had his own story to tell. "Geralt!" the bard began excitedly, suddenly unable to contain himself. "You have to hear this story. I met the most amazing woman in Vizima after you left." Geralt was familiar with the bard's many fleeting infatuations so sat in attentive silence, nursing his ale while his friend told him the story.

Only a few words in it became clear that the woman Dandelion was going on about was none other than Solona, and he vaguely recalled her mentioning the bard that first day they were together. It hadn't concerned him at the time because he didn't realize then how closely linked their lives would become. He took a deep swallow of ale and listened with greater interest.

Dandelion was animatedly describing the fight he had witnessed in a back alley in Vizima. "She was resplendent in her wrath as she took down the rapists, her motions as graceful as a dancer's. It was not unlike watching you in a fight, my friend, only with more pyrotechnics. That's not to say that little fire spell you can do isn't impressive, but hers was magnificent! And then the way she just  _crushed_  a man's head with a gesture." He held up his hand and made a grasping motion with his fingers in illustration, screwing up his face for emphasis.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. That was one spell he hadn't seen her use yet. He was becoming increasingly fascinated with the tale and Dandelion's portrayal of the young woman he'd grown so attached to over the past few weeks. "Do go on, Dandelion. What happened next?"

Dandelion continued the story, clearly embellishing in several places. Geralt couldn't help but wonder what Solona would think of the retelling.

The bard had reached the more intimate portion of the story and was leaning in closer to tell it in a hushed tone when the door to the inn opened and Solona walked in with her pack slung over one shoulder, followed closely by Lusa. Geralt glanced up and met her eyes. When she spotted Dandelion a look of mild chagrin crossed her face, then she quirked one eyebrow at Geralt. Dandelion was in the middle of describing in minute detail some of Solona's more alluring physical qualities, with which Geralt was already intimately familiar. The bard didn't need to embellish  _those_ details, Geralt knew.

Solona came towards them slowly, hanging back and urging Lusa to stay near her. When she came within earshot behind Dandelion and heard the tail end of the story her eyes grew big and an expression of shocked consternation crossed her features. Geralt glanced back at her, a suggestive little smile playing over his features and his eyes twinkling at her in amusement. He was rewarded when her face flushed brightly at Dandelion's description of a particular part of her anatomy. He didn't think he had ever seen her so flustered before. He wasn't sure whether he was more entertained by the story itself, or the effect that hearing it was having on her.

Lusa finally grew impatient and trotted over to greet Geralt with an affectionate nudge.

Dandelion finished the story with, "Oh, and I almost forgot, she said she was … looking for … you..." His voice trailed off when Lusa came around the table and sat panting happily by Geralt's side. He woofed a hello to Dandelion and let loose a short little melodic howl. "Um... Geralt... is that...? When did you get a  _dog?_ "

Solona recovered her composure and rounded the corner of the table on the other side. With forced cheerfulness in her voice she said, "Well, I found him!" She plopped down into the chair next to Geralt and turned her head to glance over at him. He hurriedly dropped one arm across his lap and scooted his chair forward, but not before she caught a glimpse of the large bulge at the front of his pants. She quirked an eyebrow at him and he cleared his throat, hiding his expression behind his tankard and taking another sip of ale. Had Dandelion told him  _every_ detail about their night together? Should she be worried?

She looked across the table at Dandelion who was still gawking at her in stunned silence. "It's nice to see you, too, Dandelion," she said brightly. With some effort of will he finally regained the use of his tongue enough to say hello to her. "Solona. What a nice surprise. You look well. " He gave her a genuinely friendly smile and turned to look at Geralt, catching the other man gazing at Solona hungrily.  _Ah, that explains it,_ he thought, Geralt's earlier behavior beginning to make sense now. He wondered how long it had been since she had caught up with his friend. She  _had_ seemed determined to catch up to him, to hear Zoltan tell it. He guessed that it had to have been some time judging from their easy familiarity with each other. Geralt leaned to her and whispered something in her ear. Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink and she shifted her eyes to the side towards him, nodding slightly and smiling.

"Dandelion," Geralt said abruptly then cleared his throat, "We should spend more time catching up, but I think the lady would like a chance to have a bath after being on the road. Are you free for dinner later?" He stood up, gathering up their things where he'd piled them on the floor by the table earlier. Dandelion stood as well, nodding to his friend. "Absolutely! I'm here for a few days as a matter of fact. A limited engagement to try out some new songs on my more open minded fans." He cut his eyes to Solona and then back to his friend. "Enjoy your bath," he said with a knowing grin.

Solona stood and started for the stairs, gesturing for Lusa to follow her. He gave her a soft woof and looked at Dandelion. "I think Lusa wants a chance to try out some of his new  _songs_ , too," she said. "Do you mind?" Dandelion laughed and smiled down at the dog, "Not at all. He is, after all, my favorite fan." He sat back in his seat and picked up his lute, plucking it lightly and beginning to hum a gay little tune to the dog, who wiggled his stubby tail and immediately began to howl in harmony.

Geralt chuckled softly at the spectacle and shook his head, then went back to the innkeeper to order the bath before heading up to their room.

* * *

Geralt's arousal had subsided to at least a manageable level before he had to stand up from the table, but when they reached the room and were behind a closed door together it came back with a vengeance. He dropped their things in the corner and grabbed her around the waist, leaning back against the door and pulling her into him, his yellow eyes filled with desire.

"That was quite a story Dandelion told," he murmured into her ear. "Very,  _very_  detailed." He spun her around so her back was against him and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her delicately on the neck. He untucked the soft woven wool tunic she was wearing and slid his hand underneath, stroking the silken skin of her belly and trailing his fingertips higher, tickling at the underside of her breasts.

Her heart was pounding hard now as she leaned back against his lean body and she could feel the bulge in his pants pressing against her leather-clad backside. She turned back around, his hand remaining under her shirt and now tracing the length of her spine.

"How detailed was it?" she asked demurely, looking into his eyes.

"Detailed enough that I have to admit I'm a little jealous," he said, beginning to unlace the front of her shirt and bending over to lay ardent kisses on the skin that was gradually exposed as he went.

"Why should you be jealous?" she asked with a quirked smile, and reached up to begin undoing the fastenings of his clothing as well. "You've had me every night for three weeks. He only had the one night with me, before I even met you."

"Yes, but his retelling of it made it feel like it happened just yesterday." His eyes burned into her.  _He's seriously jealous about that?_  She was perplexed, and his words were at odds with what his hands and mouth were doing to her. One hand had slid up the inside of her shirt and was now lightly cupping her breast, his thumb swirling little circles lightly over one nipple and making her gasp for breath. He tilted his hips, grinding against hers, and bent his head down, kissing her deeply.

There was a sudden knock at the door that startled them from their preoccupation with each other before they remembered they were expecting a bath. Solona stepped quickly away from the door and walked towards the bed, still pondering this new little development. Geralt opened the door to admit the maids with their pails of bathwater, standing with his lower torso shielded by the heavy wood. Solona rested casually against the bed and bent down to undo the laces on her boots, then pull them off. When the maids had left, the tub now full with steaming hot water, Geralt pulled off his own boots and took off his leather vest, then stalked over to the bed, lifting her up to sit on it. He began to undress her slowly and deliberately, caressing and kissing her bare skin as he went.

"So, let me get this straight," she said with amusement after he'd pulled off her shirt and was leaning down to nibble lightly at her bare shoulder, his hands roving everywhere they could find bare skin. "You say the story made you jealous, but when I got there it looked like you had quite a  _different_ reaction to it." She reached down and cupped him firmly between his thighs and felt his bulging trousers  _writhe_  ever so slightly in response. He groaned and kissed her again, his tongue dancing with hers. He nibbled her lower lip, then worked his way lower, nipping gently along the side of her neck, kissing along her collarbone, then her scar, which led him just to the level of her pert breasts, where he stopped to tease each tip softly with his tongue until he elicited subtle moans from her, before moving lower still. She leaned back on her elbows and enjoyed the little journey he was taking down the length of her body.

"He's a good storyteller," he replied gruffly as he pulled her pants down past her ankles then tossed them aside and knelt on the floor in front of her, sliding his large hands softly back up her naked legs. "And it reminded me that I haven't tasted nearly enough of you yet." He urged her knees apart then grasped her hips in a firm grip, pulling her towards him.

"Oh," she said. Then " _Ohhh,_ " as she tilted her head back in pleasure at what he'd just begun to do to her with his tongue.

Dandelion's story had left very little to the imagination, even going so far as to describe her flavor in a way that had made Geralt's mouth water again at the memory of his own first close encounter with her more delicate assets.  _Honeyed peaches... no he certainly hadn't exaggerated that detail._ He delved in, revelling in the taste of her and enjoying the way her thighs quivered slightly on either side of his head. She moaned softly and twined her fingers through his hair, causing the tie that held it back in a half-ponytail to become undone and fall to the floor behind him. His hair cascaded down around his cheeks where it wasn't tangled in her fingers.

At some point he became lost in her, in the sensations of her soft flesh under his hands and her softer flesh against his tongue. He was only marginally aware of the aching pulse in his groin that was urging to be let out. He became aware of himself a few moments later when he heard her screaming his name in ecstasy as she climaxed. He sat resting his cheek on her thigh while she caught her breath. A moment later she tried to sit up but lost her purchase on the bed and slid off, nearly crumpling onto his lap in a boneless, but very satisfied, heap. She giggled softly when he caught her and held her.

"Going somewhere?" he asked with a smile. She laughed. "Just here is fine for now until I regain the use of my legs." She slid her hands under his shirt and up his sides, trailing fingers gently over his myriad scars. "In the meantime... you can't take a bath in your clothes." He let go of her to lift his arms and let her pull his shirt off over his head. When her face came into view again she was looking at him with an odd expression.

"What is it?" he asked in a rough whisper.  _What was it?_ She didn't know. Only that something had seemed to get all twisted up inside her chest over something, but she wasn't sure what. At him confessing his jealousy over her being with another man; at the small gesture of him allowing her to undress him; or maybe it was the way his hair was falling around his beautiful, scarred face at that moment; or that  _look_  in his eyes that was something beyond the usually lusty need she saw, even though she could tell he still wanted her with his usual passion. It was something she hadn't seen, or hadn't noticed before. Maybe it was just that all of it was suddenly hitting her at the same time.

She shrugged her shoulders in dismissal and stood gracefully, reaching down to pull him up with her. She looked up into his eyes again and smiled, then reached to the front of his trousers and began unlacing them.  _There's that look again,_ she thought. But before she could contemplate it further he had stepped out of his trousers and moved close to her, grasping her face in both hands and tilting his head down to kiss her tenderly. He bent his knees slightly and wrapped his arms around her bottom, lifting her up in front of him, then turned to sit on the bed with her straddling his hips. She felt an odd sensation in her chest at the way he kept looking at her but just closed her eyes and raised up her hips enough so he could slip inside her.  _I'm losing it_ , she thought briefly, then was lost to ecstasy again when he began to move in her and his mouth went to her breast.

He had seen the uncertainty on her face when he'd looked at her and for a brief moment had wondered if she'd been able to read his mind. What she had done - just being so vulnerable in that brief moment and then undressing him like  _he_ was the one who needed caretaking - was for some reason so endearing to him and he'd felt that same sensation of something  _illuminating_  in his mind. Somehow he knew she was his key to uncovering whatever it was.

But she had withdrawn from him ever so slightly, even her lovemaking after that was somehow subdued, which was unusual for her. Was she reacting to something he had done differently? Evidently it was only temporary, however, for her usual enthusiasm returned shortly after he'd slipped inside her and they started moving together. When they peaked together several moments later, they both collapsed onto the bed, drenched in sweat.

"I think the bath might be cold," he said a little wistfully. He'd been so looking forward to a hot bath. She gave him a slightly offended look. "Who do you think you've been traveling with all this time?" She rolled towards him and held her hand, palm up, in front of him. A small, bright flame appeared and flickered there briefly, the light reflected in her smiling golden eyes. Then she got up and went to the tub, immersing her hand in it for several minutes until steam began to rise from the water again.

He got up to follow her and stood leaning against the door watching her as she knelt naked by the bath and swirled her hand around. She turned her head to look at him and smiled the same beautiful smile she'd given him every day since she'd saved his life a few weeks earlier.

And the light flared up inside his mind suddenly with the full force of the noonday sun.

_I love you._

The words caught in his throat before they could spill forth. Something in the look she had given him earlier forestalled this confession, and if he had to be honest he was somewhat amazed to be admitting it to himself, but it was undeniable. He realized the feeling may have only been because of the witch's manipulation of their lives, but he also realized that he had no reason to fight it, and every reason to embrace it, save for one - that he may not be able to hold onto her forever, and that was as much a hindrance as anything to him telling  _her_ how he felt, but it didn't negate the feelings in the least.

"Well, get in. I can't sit warming the bath for you all night," she said, pulling him back to reality. She was giving him that odd look again, so he gave her his most disarming smile and walked over to climb into the blissfully hot water. He groaned in pleasure as he lay back, closing his eyes and feeling the moist heat begin seeping in to his travel-fatigued muscles. It was  _almost_  as nice as the last hot bath he had taken. He realized after a moment that his former bathing partner still hadn't joined him and opened his eyes, looking around the room to find her. She was rummaging in her pack and finally pulled out a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. She sniffed it and then ripped the paper off and walked back over to the tub.

Seeing his creased brow, she held it up and explained, "Soap!" He raised an eyebrow. She laughed, "Don't worry, I promise it's a nice manly scent. I just thought it would be nice for our first  _real_  bath since... well since we met." She still wasn't sure if she would have called that a  _real_  bath since there had been very little  _washing_  happening, but it was the last time there had been hot water involved. The extent of their bathing during their journey so far had consisted of quick rubdowns in a cold stream, or a soft rag dampened with water heated over a campfire.

She held the small bar out for him to inspect and he caught a slightly aromatic woody scent coming from the small brownish-colored lump she held. "Sandalwood?" he said with raised brows. Then before she could even track his movements he had snagged her wrist in his hand and pulled her into the tub with him. She whooped in alarm and fell in with a splash, landing with her backside in the tub, arms and legs dangling over the sides, and the soap flying from her hand. He deftly caught her with one arm and reached out with the other to snag the soap out of the air just before it hit the water.

"You first," he said with a grin and began to lather the soap into his palms while she righted herself in the water, spluttering and laughing.

* * *

Dandelion sat at the table, feet propped up on a chair and was singing a little duet about chasing rabbits he had just composed with his new partner as inspiration. Of course in his own mind the rabbits were merely analogies for some of his own pursuits, but the dog didn't need to know that. Lusa was seated in a chair opposite him and interrupted the song with a soft "Woof" causing the bard to turn to see what had caught his attention.

Geralt and Solona cut a striking image as they came down the stairs together, and there were few people in the room who didn't turn to stare at them. Dandelion observed them both intently, noting their relaxed postures and the way they seemed to gravitate towards each other without realizing it. Solona was saying something to Geralt, who was leaning towards her slightly and smiling, even though Dandelion knew the man's hearing was acute enough to hear a whisper from across a crowded room. And they positively  _glowed._ He guessed that could just be because they were currently the two cleanest people in the room at the moment (and possibly in the entire city), but it seemed deeper than that to him.  _They clearly know how to make the best use of a couple hours,_  he thought with a little envy. He had known Geralt a long time, but he realized he didn't think he had ever seen his friend so relaxed and  _content_  before _._  He almost had second thoughts about the proposition he was about to offer the man, thinking,  _If I had two days and a bed with her, I'd never step foot outside the room._  He decided she must be some kind of succubus to have affected Geralt so profoundly, and he became immediately suspicious, then realized how idiotic the thought was. He'd spent the night with her and had left the next morning no worse for wear - quite the opposite actually.  _Lucky bastard,_  was the last thought he had before they saw him and came to sit at his table.

"Welcome back, you two. I trust you had a relaxing bath?" Geralt settled into his chair with an arrogantly satisfied smile. "It was long overdue," he said to his friend and glanced at Solona who smiled back at him.  _Their faces are going to freeze like that if they're not careful,_  Dandelion thought absently.

"So, who wants a drink?" Solona piped up with enthusiasm. "On me tonight." She hopped up without waiting for a response and strode over to the bar.

When she was out of earshot, Dandelion sat forward abruptly. "Geralt!" he said in an exaggerated whisper. "Why didn't you tell me she found you! You let me go on with that  _story_... I apologize, by the way."

Geralt let out a deep, rumbling laugh, "No need to apologize, Dandelion. Your story helped me realize some things."

Dandelion's eyebrows shot up, "Oh? Like what."

Geralt cleared his throat and looked over where Solona was standing by the bar placing their order. His eyebrows knit together for a second as he watched her, then he waved his hand evasively, "It's not important."

Dandelion snorted and gave him a knowing look, "I know you. You're  _completely_  smitten. She has you turned upside-down my friend. That's what you're not telling me. You're never this... this... shit, I don't even know what to call it, coming from you."

Geralt's smile turned rueful as he watched her. She turned her head towards him and gave him a gentle smile that made his heart pound in his chest. "You're way too astute for your own good, Dandelion," he said gruffly, but didn't argue.

"So what is her story, anyway? It must be an interesting tale for her to have gotten under  _your_  skin the way she has. Zoltan wasn't very forthcoming." In an exaggerated brogue he said, " _It's not for me to tell, Dandelion."_ He shook his head.

"It's not for me to tell, Dandelion," Geralt said, then nodded towards Solona who was on her way back to the table with their drinks. "You'll have to ask her yourself, but I promise you it's worthy of a song." Dandelion's eyes brightened at this and he looked eagerly at Solona.

She set their drinks down, then sat, her expression growing perplexed at the look she was getting from the bard. He said to her, " _You_  have a story, my dear, and I  _must_ hear it from the very beginning."

"Okay," she said cautiously. "But I warn you, it's rather long, and I know you've heard some of it already."

* * *

She told her story to them, starting at the beginning as Dandelion had requested and leaving out very few details she could remember. It was cathartic in some ways. Telling it to them and seeing their reactions let her see her life from another perspective. She glossed over her time at the Circle, describing it only as "a cage I was lucky enough to escape from thanks to  _divine_  intervention" (the word "divine" was said somewhat sarcastically - she assumed Flemeth was listening like a fly on the wall somewhere). However, the omission was not lost on her audience and Dandelion glanced at Geralt with an inquiring look and Geralt just shrugged in response.  _Odd that she would be so detailed so far and then just skip something like that,_ they both thought _._

Then the real story began and Dandelion was utterly rapt as he listened. He unconsciously began strumming his lute sporadically with the occasional chord of his song that went along with her story. When she reached the finale he was playing in earnest and she couldn't help but be caught up in the spectacle of it, realizing that they did indeed have a small audience of patrons who had begun listening in, drawn by Dandelion's lute. When she described the killing blow to the Archdemon they all applauded. She laughed and stood up to take a small bow.

"So what happened to Allstar?" a random female voice called out from the crowd.

"Well,  _Alistair_  was king," she explained, emphasizing the pronunciation of his name. "He had a job to do, and I would have just gotten in the way."

"But you were the hero! And he loved you!" another random voice objected.

She sighed, took a drink for fortification, and explained with a wistful tone that she knew was mostly for theatrical value. "If love were all that mattered he might have married me. But in my world sorcerers are feared to such a degree that they keep us locked up in towers. We can't marry, we can't have lives. All we can do is be little more than slaves." She heard sad sighs emitted around her and someone muttered "no wonder she left."

"We want to hear the whole story!" someone said.

She laughed, her voice rough from talking all evening. She was too exhausted to give them more. "Dandelion knows the story, I'm sure he'll sing you the song." She looked at Dandelion beseechingly and he nodded and begun to play and sing.

She sat staring at her hands trying to hold back feelings that were threatening to overwhelm her after reliving the previous year. She was so far, far away from those moments that had kept her going for so long; kept her grounded. What did she have here? She felt utterly lost until she felt a strong hand slide across her shoulders and pull her into a tender embrace, anchoring her. "Geralt," she said with gratitude, holding onto him like he was her lifeline. "I feel so lost here sometimes. You're all I have. I'm afraid if I let go of you for even a second I'll just drift away like a feather." He swallowed hard, wanting to tell her he felt the same way, but knew that wouldn't help comfort her. "I promise I won't let you drift away," he said gruffly.  _Just don't let go._

Sensing their mood, Dandelion ended the love song and switched to something more upbeat that Lusa could sing along with. Before long he had the entire room singing and dancing. Solona extracted herself from Geralt's embrace and gave him a soft kiss of thanks. A moment later, four platters of food were set before them, "On the house," the serving girl said with a smile.

* * *

After they were finished with their supper Dandelion finally broached the subject. "Geralt, I think I might have a lead on a  _very lucrative_ contract for you."

Geralt tensed noticeably and looked at Solona. "Okay, let's hear it," she said, ignoring Geralt's look. His look turned quizzical and she looked back at him, "What? It might be interesting, and clearly it's worth a lot if Dandelion is bugging you about it." Dandelion looked offended at the characterization. She smirked at him. Geralt couldnt help but chuckle at the odd exchange.

"Well," Dandelion began, "apparently some wiseass decided to summon a Koshchey in the city."


	14. The Monster and the Monarch

Sitting at their table in the inn, Dandelion explained, "King Henselt himself requested the contract. I thought it might be a good opportunity for you to get back into his good graces after that whole Roche thing."

Geralt scowled. "He already owes me for keeping Roche from killing him. Not to mention helping him lift Sabrina Glevissig's curse."

Dandelion looked sympathetic. "I know this, but he clearly still thinks you were working with Roche - which you were, I might add. This will at least give him a public debt he owes you. Plus, it would be good for the Witchers in general, wouldn't it?"

Geralt had to concede on that point. Anything he could do to smooth the feathers of Kaedwen's reigning monarch would be good for the Witchers. But that was the least of his worries when he considered there was a monster loose in the city's sewers terrorizing and killing people.

He looked at Solona with a grim expression. "Looks like we're going hunting for a monster."

She looked back with a quizzical half smile, "Is it that bad, really?"

"It's death. With eight legs and pincers," he said, gravely.

* * *

Dawn was still at least an hour away when three hooded figures crept through the dark city streets followed by a four-legged shadow. They walked silently to the edge of the city, and the lead figure pointed to a small alleyway that ran along the outer city wall. Several yards along the wall the figure turned and disappeared down a steep flight of steps that ended at a heavy wooden door. The door opened soundlessly and they stepped through into utter darkness.

Solona heard the soft *pop* of a cork being drawn out of a bottle and heard Geralt swallowing deeply. "Light," he whispered softly into Solona's ear after the door had closed behind them with a heavy thud. She could smell the strong scent of unfamiliar herbs on his breath.

The staff she held began to glow softly along its entire length, just enough to illuminate the steep steps that continued deeper into the sewers beneath the city. There was a subtle stench of filth and refuse where they stood near the door, and it became gradually more harsh and cloying as they descended into the darkness.

At the bottom of the steps they reached a deep, wide ditch carved into the rock the city was built upon. It was full of icy cold sewage and Solona wrinkled her nose, suddenly regretting wearing her good armor. She pushed her hood back and whispered, "Which way?" Dandelion gestured silently down the tunnel to the right. When she turned she saw there was a small ledge just wide enough for them to walk along single-file, although they would need to crouch slightly to avoid hitting their heads on the ceiling of the tunnel where it curved above them.

Geralt took the lead with Solona just behind him, followed by Dandelion and then Lusa. Several yards along they reached a metal grate in the middle of the ditch. Geralt stepped down into the dark, knee-deep water and unlatched it, pushing it open. It gave a loud, metallic creak that made them all jump. Geralt cursed softly and unsheathed his silver sword in response to the dark figures that began to rise from the water around them. Solona cast a quick spell to fortify their defenses then turned to take stock of their attackers. She recognized them as drowners - the same creatures that had attacked her and Geralt by the lake several weeks ago. She heard Lusa growl menacingly and then his ferocious bark and snapping teeth as he leaped at one of the creatures attacking them from the rear. Geralt was engaged with a handful of the creatures that had begun coming through the grate he had just opened, his silver blade flashing in the dim blue light emitted from her staff.

She focused on a pair that were sloshing through the sewage towards herself and Dandelion, aiming the end of her staff at them and pushing her will through it. The force hit them and threw them back into the water, but they rose again and continued advancing on her. She quickly shoved her cloak back and stowed her still glowing staff in the holster at her back. With both hands free she focused her will again and pushed. The two creatures flew back hard against the opposite wall, a small tidal wave of sewage following them. They splattered into the rock as though an invisible fist had just flattened them against it. Their remains slid down the rock in wet, slippery clumps, falling and hitting the ground with soft splats.

"Holy shit," she heard Dandelion whisper at her side.

She turned to look behind them and saw Lusa making quick work of the creature that had attacked from the rear, then turned to where Geralt was knee-deep in the water, still engaged with five of the creatures that had come through the grate. The creatures were too close to him for her to send another force spell at the group, but she could sense his energy wavering and threw a small spell to bolster his stamina. She saw him make a small gesture with his free hand and the creatures he was fighting flew back a few feet, allowing him space to regroup. She could see him calculating his next attack. His stance changed subtly, his sword swinging around in wide arcs as he and the creatures advanced on each other. Suddenly he lunged, whipping his sword around in a blur, slicing through all five of them at once. Two of them dropped dead from the hit and the other three wavered, but were cut down on the backswing, splashing dead into the water.

Without a word, Geralt quickly sheathed his sword and motioned for them to continue through the open grate.

They continued through the maze of dark tunnels for another hour and were at a junction of two tunnels trying to decide which direction to go. When they approached the intersection, Solona started getting an odd, familiar feeling, like the hum of bees at the base of her skull. She stopped abruptly.  _Darkspawn? It couldn't be... not here!_ She leaned over, her hands on her knees, and shook her head trying to clear the feeling.

Noticing her distress, Geralt stepped over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Solona, what is it?" he whispered.

She looked at him, her confusion clear on her face. "It feels like darkspawn, but there's no way they could be here. Whatever it is, it's close."

"Which way?"

She pointed down one tunnel and he started down it resolutely, sword poised and ready for a fight. She followed, her dread a solid lump in her belly.

After several yards the tunnel sloped up out of the water and opened into a large cistern with barrel-vaulted ceilings supported at intervals by immense columns. The light from Solona's staff only penetrated a little way into the gloom but she could sense the presence of  _something_  in the darkness beyond. The closer they had gotten to it, the more she realized the feeling was different from the sensation of normal darkspawn she'd become accustomed to during the Blight. There was something big in here, however. Big and nasty.

They heard the eerie sound of rhythmic clicking on hard stone coming from the shadows across the large, empty space. Lusa started growling, teeth bared and saliva dripping from his jaws. Solona urged him to hold back until they knew what they were fighting. The four of them stood tense and ready, waiting to find out what lurked in the darkness.

Geralt knew what it was when he heard the clicking sounds. It was the Koshchey - somehow Solona had sensed its presence here, her ability to sense the evil creatures from her world allowing her to find this creature as well. He would ponder the implications of that later. He waited patiently, knowing it would come to them, and he would be ready.

The clicking noise grew closer to them and a set of eight glowing blue eyes emerged from the darkness. There was a low screeching sound as they saw the creature raise a pair of long, jointed arms with pincers at the end, snapping loudly. The creature lunged at them suddenly, its eight jointed legs propelling it towards them in a blur.

"Move!" Geralt yelled as he dodged and tumbled quickly to one side. Solona followed suit, tumbling in the opposite direction, ending up in a small alcove on the opposite wall. She stood and turned quickly, in time to see Dandelion cowering before the large creature, its pincers poised above him ready to strike. The creature's claws snapped together with hard cracks and it was clear to her anything that got caught between them would be cut in two.

Lusa leaped onto the creature's back with a loud growl, but it ignored him, its armor too sturdy for him to have any effect on it. She yelled, "Lusa, to me!" The dog reluctantly retreated, jumping off the back of the creature and running over to stand beside her.

The buzzing in her head was deafening this close to the creature, but there was a new sensation that began in the center of her chest and radiated outwards. It was like every molecule in her body was vibrating with power. She didn't have time to process it, however, knowing only that she needed to crush the creature that was threatening her friend. She saw Geralt on the other side of the creature, his sword raised and stalking around to the back of it getting ready to strike.

She crouched slightly and felt the power building in her as she readied her spell, then cast it abruptly with a furious yell, punching the air just before her as though it were the focus of her attack. She watched in astonishment as an ethereal image of a fist emerged from her own and hurtled towards the beast, growing in size as it reached its mark. There was a roar of wind as the force of her spell sucked the air from around it and the ghostly fist hit the beast with a loud crunch, sending it sliding across the stone floor with a screech of shell on stone and forcing it into the opposite wall. It hit hard, its armor cracking into pieces and its legs crumpling up with the force. Several chunks of rock crumbled down from the wall behind it at the sudden impact.

The buzzing in her head stopped abruptly. The creature lay there unmoving but for one twitching appendage that gradually stilled. Dandelion still crouched, whimpering, then slowly looked up between his arms, cautiously curious about the sudden silence in the room. He saw Geralt standing across the room from him, his sword dangling from one hand and staring awestruck at Solona who simply stood in the little alcove, a look of shock still on her face at the result of the spell she had just cast.

Geralt walked over to her quickly, his concern evident on his face. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, speechless, and turned to face him, a look of amazement still plastered on her face. When he reached her he sensed it. She was standing in the middle of a place of power and it had infused her without her even having to act on it, other than being inside its aura, and she still seemed to be unconsciously drawing on its power.

He urged her out of the alcove and had her sit against a column a few yards away. She immediately felt the vibrating energy inside her dissipate and let out a sigh of relief. "What the hell was that?" she asked, the question coming out in one long breath. Geralt was inspecting the alcove, trying to see if there was anything unique about this particular place of power, but it appeared to be just like all the rest he had encountered. He shook his head in consternation. "It's just a normal place of power," he said in amazement. He turned to her and asked, "What did you do when you got to it?"

She looked up at him, an expression of amazement still showing on her face. "I just stood … there," she pointed where she had been standing, and shrugged her shoulders. "It felt... odd... but I didn't think about it. I didn't have  _time_  to think about it. I just... " she shrugged her shoulders again, looking over at the crumpled form of the Koshchey on the other wall.

Geralt went to the carcass of the beast, climbing up and perching precariously atop its body. He proceeded to pry up its shattered armored shell, trying to reach its heart, which he cut out with a few quick strokes of his dagger. He stowed it in a pouch at his belt, then gracefully jumped down from the creature. Once on the ground, he went around to one of its pincers and took out his sword, hacking at it until it came free, then hung the trophy on a small hook that dangled from his belt.

He turned to check on his friend. He saw that Dandelion had recovered from the fright and was kneeling next to Solona, talking to her quietly. She was laughing. Geralt felt a sudden surge of jealousy and buried it. He knew better than to let his emotions get away from him like this.

He walked over to them and Dandelion stood up when he approached. "Well that was pretty spectacular, don't you agree?"

Geralt only nodded, crouching down to make sure Solona was okay. She waved him off abruptly.

"I'm fine," she said. "It was just surprising... I've never had that kind of power at my disposal before. All my spells since I've been here have been harder to control, but that was... like nothing I've ever felt before," she said, still awestruck. "And that fist-thing... I've never seen that before, either."

She stood up and stroked Lusa's head absently. "Lets head back then, unless you guys feel like spending the day down here... we  _could_  have a picnic but I forgot to bring any sandwiches."

* * *

It was late morning when they made it to the doors of the castle to request their bounty.

They were made to wait outside the throne room for several minutes and stood uncomfortably in the outer hall. Geralt paced impatiently and Solona could tell he was anxious about the audience they were about to have with Kaedwen's king.

"Is he really that bad?" she whispered to him when his pacing brought him close enough. He shook his head at her and said, "The last time I saw him was in the middle of a war I was trying to stop. A friend of mine was about to murder him... I stopped him, but Henselt didn't exactly regard what I had done as a favor. It might have something to do with me knocking him out before we left." He shrugged sheepishly.

"Why did your friend want to kill him?" Solona asked.

Geralt sighed softly and sat on the bench next to her, elbows resting on his knees. In a low voice he explained, "My friend - Roche - was the leader of an order of Temerian spies. During the war we both aided Henselt in securing Lormark … a section of Pontar Valley in northern Aedirn. We were loyal to him... as loyal as mercenaries can be, anyway. Henselt's advisor accused Roche's team of conspiracy and had them all executed. Understandably, that didn't exactly sit well with Roche. We took care of the advisor, but Roche was hell bent on taking vengeance on the king as well, which wouldn't have done anyone any good. Henselt's a despicable man but he's good for the kingdom. Kaedwen's prospered under his rule and killing him would have just thrown it into chaos. Especially because he has no heir to speak of. It would have meant civil war for the kingdom if he had died."

Solona was about to ask another question when a steward finally permitted them entry. They were the first petitioners of the day which was apparent when they walked into the large hall where the king kept court. There were still several underlings darting around the room making things ready for the day as they approached the throne. The king sat stiffly on his throne and watched them approach. He immediately recognized Geralt and gave him a long, serious frown.

They reached the foot of the throne and Solona looked up at the man who rested upon it. He was middle-aged, with a thick, neatly trimmed beard and small, beady eyes that burned with intensity. He was dressed as resplendently as a king should be, with a large crown and thick, embroidered velvet robes. She saw his gaze bore into Geralt as they stood there.

The king spoke in a deep, melodic voice, "Ah, Geralt of Rivia. To what do I owe this unexpected visit."

"Your grace," Geralt began, his deep voice unwavering, "we've come to tell you that we've fulfilled your contract to kill the monster terrorizing your people. We've proof of the creature's demise and respectfully request the reward for the deed." He threw the Koshchey's claw down at the foot of the throne. She could tell from his tone that he held some disdain for the man he was speaking to. She could also tell that it wasn't lost on the king, either.

"I had wondered whether you would be the one to answer the contract, or if it would be one of your brother Witchers. Our last meeting was unfortunate. I was hoping to have another opportunity to speak with you, under calmer circumstances." The king's eyes shifted over to fall on Solona. They sized her up in a way that made her skin prickle uncomfortably.  _What a creep,_  she thought, but met his gaze and held it steadily without a word.

Henselt gave a cursory glance to Dandelion and the dog before he looked back at Geralt. "Are you going to introduce me to your friends, Witcher? I would like to know who else assisted you in completing this contract; who else I owe the well-being of my people to, after all."

The king turned to look meaningfully at Solona, his eyes raking down her body and leaving her with an uncomfortable feeling. She looked over at Geralt and realized that he hadn't been oblivious to the king's attention to her either. His jaw was clenched trying to maintain control and his eyes burned with fury. He finally took a deep breath and introduced them in the most polite way he could manage under the circumstances.

"I'm sure you already know the bard, Dandelion, my liege." He gestured at his friend who nodded in deference. "And my other companion is Solona Amell." He didn't elaborate. She only nodded her head in greeting.

The king looked back at her with interest. "Ah, Miss  _Amell_. I've heard rumours about you, young lady. The people are calling you the White Queen for some reason. Do you know what that means?" She looked back at him surprised. Why were they calling her that? Only the dryads had called her that since she'd been here. The dryads and Flemeth, anyway.

"Who are you  _really_ , my dear?" Henselt asked, intensely curious.

"I'm just a traveler, sir," she said, refusing to address him with any more deference.

"I find  _that_ very hard to believe," he said and made a subtle gesture with one hand.

Suddenly there were several guards surrounding them, two of them were grabbing hold of Solona's arms and restraining her, urging her to move towards a door on one side of the hall.

She gave Geralt a panicked look and he shook his head slightly at her then turned to the king. Lusa stood up abruptly and began growling at the guards who held her captive. She said softly, "Lusa, no. Go with Geralt." The dog gave her a dubious look and then went back to sit next to the Witcher. The guards continued to escort her through the door.

"Henselt!" Geralt growled forcefully. "What is the meaning of this? She means nothing to you. Let her go!" He all but yelled the words at the king.

"Ah, quite the contrary my friend. If she is the White Queen she means quite a lot to me. I intend to find out exactly who she is. If she is who I believe she is then I'm afraid I may need to keep her." He gestured to an advisor who stepped forward and handed Geralt a pouch heavy with gold and they were summarily escorted out of the hall and deposited on the steps of the palace.

Geralt cursed loudly, clenching his fist with white knuckles around the bag of money still clutched in his hand.

"We'll get her out, Geralt," Dandelion said, trying to comfort his friend. "There has to be a way to change the man's mind at least. Who is this 'White Queen' he thinks she is, anyway? He's delusional if he thinks that's her, right?"

Geralt only shook his head and paced back and forth on the steps trying to think of something, anything they could do to get Solona away from Henselt. Finally he said, his tone slightly absent and preoccupied, "It must have something to do with the little performance at the inn last night. The White Queen... it's part of the prophecy. He must know about it if he's connected her to it."

Dandelion said, "Wait a second, you're not saying that she  _is_  this 'white queen' Henselt is so hot after?"

Geralt only nodded and turned to glare at the closed palace gates as though he could tear them down with a look.

"Geralt, who  _is_ she? I've heard her story, I know she's from another world, which is impressive enough, but what is it about this prophecy that has a  _king_  in such a frenzy to have her? Clearly there's more to the story than she's shared with me so far."

Geralt looked at his friend and sat heavily on the steps, resigned to the idea that there was nothing he could do at the moment. He told his friend everything. When he was finished, he said, "I don't know what Henselt thinks he's going to do with her, but we  _have_  to get her out. We don't have time to waste. I should have known better than to take her with us to meet him. I just never thought he might have an interest in the prophecy. I should have known better."

Dandelion sat dazed, still processing the details of Geralt's tale. No wonder his friend was so attached to this woman after such a short time. He actually almost felt a little guilty for the small amount of intimacy he'd had with her. He stood up and grabbed Geralt's shoulders tightly in each hand and shook him slightly, saying, "Geralt! We'll get her out. We'll figure out a way, even if we have to break down the walls to do it."

Geralt attempted a small smile of gratitude at his friend's loyalty and continued trying to think of a solution.

* * *

Solona was escorted up several flights of steps and down a long hallway where she was locked in a richly appointed room that overlooked the terraced city below her. The view was spectacular but it was lost on her as she tried to figure out how get out of her predicament. She knew she could blast her way through the walls, but had gotten the sense from Geralt that it would be wiser to attempt a more diplomatic resolution and avoid alienating the man they were dealing with. Clearly killing the bastard was not an option, unfortunately. She needed to know what Henselt really wanted from her before she would know how to negotiate with him.

She paced the room impatiently for what seemed like hours until the door finally opened and King Henselt himself entered followed by two men in long robes. She stopped pacing and stood stock still as she watched them come into the room. The king smiled at her indulgently. "Hello, my dear," he said and his beady eyes roved over her body like they owned her.

"What do you want from me?" she demanded forcefully, trying to ignore his look.

"If I'm not mistaken, you  _are_ the prophesied White Queen. It's rather fortuitous that you ended up in my palace today, don't you think?"

"If you know of the prophecy then you know my purpose. It's not to be held captive by some horndog of a king."

"I don't put much stock in prophecy, but I know my people do. If  _they_ believe you're the White Queen, they will accept you as my consort. And if I manage to get a child on you then my line is secure."

She gaped at him in disbelief. "You want to  _marry_  me? You  _are_ crazy."

"Not just marry you, my dear," he said. As he spoke he gradually advanced on her until he was finally standing inches away from her. He reached out and grabbed her backside in a solid grip, pulling her into him. She felt his fingers digging into her flesh and gritted her teeth. Reflexively she let out a small burst of will to push him away. He grunted softly at the force and staggered back, blinking in confusion.

Flames coated her hands. Her face screwed up with rage and disgust. Through clenched teeth she said, "If you ever touch me again, I will burn you."

He regained his balance and stood up straighter. He smirked at her. "My dear, you don't understand the power at my disposal." He gestured and she saw the two robed men begin to walk towards her.

She still could feel the remnants of the power from her earlier experience in the sewers and decided to take advantage of it, throwing up a solid shield around her. They didn't seem to notice. She saw one of them begin gesturing and chanting and threw a hand out at him, tossing a paralysis spell. He froze in place when the spell hit him, stuck in an awkward gesture. His partner turned his head sharply in alarm. "You think you're going to beat me, do you?" she said with a wicked grin. She made the subtlest flick of her wrist, pushing her will into the motion, and the man flew back hard against the wall behind him, his head cracking on the stone. His body slid down the wall and ended in an unconscious heap on the floor.

She looked back at the king with a satisfied smirk. "We can talk this out or I can keep going," she said, magic crackling along her fingertips. "There is something you should know before you try again, of course. It wasn't Geralt that killed the Koshchey this morning. It was me. And I did it as easily as I just dealt with your two sorry excuses for sorcerers."

The king stood placidly before her, looking with indifference at the two men she had dealt with so adeptly. "A sorcerer, I see. And a powerful one at that," he observed. With contempt he said, "More powerful than the ones I keep around, clearly." The two vanquished sorcerers were dismissed with a wave of his hand, exiting the door in a stupor and closing it firmly behind them.

He pondered the situation briefly. He knew from experience that it would be folly to piss off a sorceress of her caliber. "Fine. Lets negotiate."

She drew back the power of her spell and dropped her hands, relaxing slightly. "What is it you want from me exactly?"

He found a chair and sat with a loud sigh. "I need an heir."

She laughed out loud, "Well, you should probably know that even if I wanted to, it's highly likely I'm as infertile as you are. Anyway, what gave you the bright idea that kidnapping a woman was the best way to woo her?"

"I don't make a habit of kidnapping. You're quite unique you realize."

"I understand that, but do you have any idea what the prophecy actually says? It doesn't say I'm destined to be raped by a king and bear his heir."

He hesitated. "I know the prophecy speaks of a saviour from the south, beyond the Yaruga river, Miss  _Amell_ , and of the world being reborn through the White Queen and the White Flame. It was strongly believed at one point that the Nilfgaardian emperor and his daughter were these figures, but that proved false."

She found another chair and pulled it over to sit facing the king. "The prophecy is real, in spite of your arrogant attempt at circumventing it. I am real. And according to the prophecy, there's only one man alive who is capable of getting me pregnant, and it's not you. If there were any way I could help you, believe me I would, if only to get out of this room."

He frowned at her condescending tone, but she could tell her words were sinking in. While she waited for him to respond, the wheels in her mind turned, processing the concept of fertility and the things that might hinder it. She didn't know yet what hindered Witcher fertility and suspected that there was something about the ritual that would allow them to get over that hurdle, but there were only a few things that might cause a normal man to be unable to get a woman pregnant.

She looked at the king curiously. There may be something she could do for him after all. "May I ask you a few personal questions?" He sat regarding her silently and then nodded.

"First, have you fathered children before?"

His tone was unemotional and to the point. "Yes. My late wife bore me a son. He's dead."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Have you ever sustained an injury to … ah ... your reproductive organs?"

He shook his head but his expression grew curious. "No. That's something a man would remember. What are you getting at, my dear?"

She cleared her throat and stood up, motioning for him to stand up as well. He stood and watched in fascinated silence as she stepped close to him. He observed that she carried herself with easy confidence and was undaunted by his stature. Sorcerers as skilled as she was were rarely intimidated by power, which irked him somewhat. The similarity to Sabrina Glevissig struck him, but he realized this woman had much kinder eyes as she approached him, although they twinkled slightly with mischief. Perhaps she was still young enough to find humor in absurd situations. It was exceedingly attractive to him.

When she drew close to him her mouth was set in a hard line and she said slightly under her breath, "Just want to check something." She reached a hand out quickly towards his groin and grasped him tightly through his robes. He let out a loud yelp of surprise, and with a high pitched squeak demanded, "What are you doing?"

"Hold still, I'm trying to help you," she said and grabbed his backside tightly with her other hand to keep him still.  _See how you like it, bastard,_ she thought and laughed inwardly _._  She focused her will into the hand grasping his equipment and tried to sense any kind of affliction that might be causing his problem.  _There it is,_ she could sense the small obstruction and focused on it to clear it, healing energy radiating out from her fingertips. She ignored the heavy breathing coming from the king.

When she felt his hand start to grope her backside again she shot him a warning glance. "Do you really want to try that when I have your balls in my hand,  _Your Majesty?_ " Her grip tightened subtly enough to reinforce her statement.

He swallowed hard and dropped his hand, turning his head to stare out the window in feigned indifference while she worked. Aside from her tight grip on him, whatever she was doing to him felt astoundingly pleasant, her fingers radiating a tingling warmth that seeped into his flesh. In spite of his efforts he was unable to control his response.

When Solona sensed the last of the obstruction dissipating she was aware of how aroused the king was. For good measure she pushed one last little surge of magic through her fingers. He made a satisfied grunt and shuddered briefly before collapsing back into his chair. His breathing was labored and his bearded face was flushed and shimmered with a thin layer of sweat. She crossed her arms and looked at him, clearly unimpressed. "I cleared the path - that's the best I can do to help, and hopefully that's all you need. Go find a fertile woman to take to bed. Preferably one who's willing this time."

He nodded and stood, his face utterly composed as though he hadn't just been manhandled by a lovely sorcerer. "You have my gratitude if this works." Feeling suddenly charitable he said, "I should warn you, Lady Solona, I'm not the only leader in the Northern Kingdoms that might wish to use you to their advantage. Word of your existence has no doubt already reached the ears of many of them. If interest in this prophecy is rekindled you should know your life may be in danger. Many of them would sooner see you dead than at the disposal of one of the others."

She was surprised by his sudden show of honesty. She guessed her willingness to help him in spite of his treatment of her had changed his opinion somehow.  _I'm sure my little magical hand job had nothing to do with it,_ she thought and smirked.

"I appreciate the warning, sir. I've dealt with my share of assassins so I'm not terribly concerned about it. Now, you may be aware that there's a man outside currently plotting a way to break me out of captivity, and probably fully capable of pulling it off. So if you will permit me to go  _now_  I can ensure that nobody gets hurt."

* * *

Geralt, Dandelion, and Lusa were still sulking on the steps of the palace when they heard the heavy gates open up behind them. They turned in unison and watched with identical expressions of amazement as Solona strode towards them. When she saw them she smiled triumphantly. Geralt stood and walked quickly towards her, immediately looking her over for any signs of abuse. Seeing nothing amiss he grasped her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "Did he hurt you?" he asked in a firm, quiet voice, rough with emotion.

She shook her head at him, evading the question, and said with feigned cheer, "Well, don't we have a bounty to spend?" She kept walking and they eventually followed her with equally confused expressions.

When they were back at the inn, she kept walking, leading them all the way up to the room she and Geralt were sharing.

Once the door was closed behind them all she looked Geralt in the eye and finally answered his question.

"He didn't hurt me... he tried, but even with his mages he was pretty ineffectual. I think I scared him a little, to be honest."

"What did he want with you, anyway?" Dandelion asked.

She giggled a little bit hysterically at the absurdity of it. "He... wanted me to have his  _baby_ , of all things. Well, and make me his queen. The man is pretty desperate for an heir. I guess he thought because I'm this prophesied  _White Queen_ for some reason that would make him suddenly fertile?"

Geralt shook his head at the idea. With an angry look, he asked, "He didn't try anything did he?"

With a smirk she answered, "Oh, he  _tried_ , but you'll be happy to know that my virtue, such as it is, is still intact. On the contrary, I think I actually made a friend in there, believe it or not. I  _think_  I was actually able to help the man with his little... problem..." She waggled glowy fingers in the general direction of Geralt's hips. "But of course that will remain to be seen. If it turns out he ends up with an heir after all, you'll know who to thank."

Geralt's eyes narrowed. "You did  _what_ exactly?"

Her eyes rolled to the ceiling trying to find the words to explain it. She cleared her throat. "Um, let's just say that I removed a barrier to his ability to procreate. It's no guarantee that he'll be successful but it gives him a better chance, at least."

As a non sequitur she added, "And apparently there are  _probably_  assassins after me."

She saw the consternation in Geralt's look and said suggestively, "If you would  _like_ I can give you a little  _demonstration_ later." He raised an eyebrow at her. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but was intrigued nonetheless.

In a hushed voice, she said, "Geralt, we need to talk about something."

She shot a pointed look at Dandelion who took the hint with no more encouragement. "Come along my furry friend," he said to Lusa, "Let us go practice our new ballad," and Lusa followed him out the door. She noticed that he'd also grabbed up the pouch with their bounty but neither she nor Geralt objected.

* * *

When Dandelion left the room all Geralt wanted to do was take her in his arms, but he held back. He was a Witcher. He felt the need to keep reminding himself of the fact.  _We're unemotional creatures. Showing emotion means showing weakness._ So he just stood looking at her with his usual intensity.

Except his look made her feel like his hands were already on her, which made her breath escape her briefly.

"Geralt," she said with soft admonishment, "If you keep looking at me like that we're never going to be able to finish this."

He looked away from her and cleared his throat, "I … apologize. It's not like me to become this... attached to anyone. It's just... I was worried about you today. If Henselt hadn't let you leave I don't know what I would have done, but it wouldn't have been pretty."

She stepped towards him and rested her palm gently on his cheek. He turned back to her and met her eyes, his own filled with raw emotion that he tried unsuccessfully to suppress. She recognized the look in his eyes as the same one Alistair had given her on so many occasions when they were together, but there was something all too familiar about the way Geralt clearly struggled to control those feelings.

"Geralt..." she whispered and shook her head softly, "You can't let..."

Before she could utter another word his mouth was covering hers, his tongue probing with desperate need, as if to say,  _Yes, I can. And I will._

He suddenly didn't care if it was unwise for him to feel what he did, he just needed solid validation of her well being. He sensed some reticence in her after he silenced whatever objection she had been about to make, but soon she was responding to his touch with her normal fervor.

He deliberately took his time, undressing her slowly and wordlessly. He needed to see and touch every inch of her to assure himself that she was whole and unharmed. After removing a garment he would slide his hands softly across her smooth skin, trailing his lips behind them. She stood quietly, eyes closed, held captive by the web of sensations his fingertips and his mouth were weaving around her naked limbs. She could hear the deep susurrus of soft, foreign words murmured in between his kisses. She recognized the words as Elder Speech, but didn't know their meaning. " _Solona, me minne, me cáerme,_ "repeated over and over as he trailed infinite kisses and caresses across her skin -  _Solona, my love, my destiny_.

After several boundless moments saturated with sensation his caresses ended suddenly, leaving her bereft. She opened her eyes and saw him standing before her, gazing at her from beneath lowered lashes, his mouth still forming the words that held her spellbound. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched him slowly undress. She stood transfixed as he unbuckled the fastenings on his jacket and shrugged out of it, letting it slide to the floor at his feet. He pulled his linen tunic up over his head, the muscles of his scarred abdomen rippling as he stretched to divest himself of the garment. He crouched down and unlaced his boots, then stood up again and lifted each foot, pulling his boots off one after the other and dropping them to the side.

Her eyes roved over him, imagining the feel of his scarred torso beneath her fingers, her lips, her tongue, and she involuntarily licked her lips as his hands went to the laces at the front of his breeches and began to undo them. Then his breeches fell to the floor with his other garments and he stepped close to her again, cupping her head in both hands and kissing her passionately. He pulled back slightly, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers for a moment. She could feel his lips moving against hers, speaking the same refrain as though it were a prayer. " _Solona, me minne, me cáerme._ "

He stooped and placed an arm behind her knees, lifting her into his arms, and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently in the center and lying on his side beside her. He resumed his earlier explorations, his mouth focusing on her breasts and his fingers trailing down her abdomen to slide softly between her thighs. She uttered a low, plaintive moan. His attentions had caused a growing ache to build inside her and it was now a subtle throbbing need. She let out a small gasp as two of his thick digits slipped inside her, his thumb deftly finding her small nub and teasing it with small swirls.

"Geralt..." she whispered desperately, panting softly.

"Shhh," he urged quietly, and kissed her. She returned the kiss hungrily and reached her hands up, pulling at the tie that held his ponytail. His hair came free and hung down in a white curtain around their faces. Their eyes remained locked as he shifted his body over hers, his desire-hardened flesh brushing against her belly, the heat of his taut skin feeling like it was searing her wherever it touched her. She opened up to him, trembling with the need to be filled by his flesh, his blood, his bone. His eyes penetrated hers even as his hard length found her center and entered her. His lips began forming words again, whispering his mantra as he moved above her, flexing his hips to drive deep inside her.

His low, deep voice resonated through her as completely as the feel of his flesh piercing her own. She felt a barrier breaking down and the feeling was not unlike the way the king's little obstruction had felt to her earlier. Her own wall was purely emotional, however, and there was a sense of something painful on the other side that she wasn't yet ready to face. She tried to obscure the feelings again and unconsciously began speaking the words with him in an effort to drown out the feelings breaking through. Their voices became a chorus punctuated by the rhythm of their lovemaking. She focused desperately on his eyes and his lips forming those words that she didn't know the meaning of but  _understood_  them as well as she understood her own name when he spoke it, because all the meaning she needed was held in those three syllables coming from his mouth to her ears.

His thrusting subsided to a slow, even rhythm and she saw his brow crease with concern. He brought a hand up, gently caressing her cheek with his thumb and she realized suddenly that she was crying. She tilted her cheek into his palm and kissed it softly, at the same time urging him to quicken his pace with the grip of her thighs around his hips. He obliged, increasing his pace again to bury himself inside her faster and harder until their softly spoken words became loud cries of ecstasy as they climaxed together. When she regained her breath her fingers twined through his hair and pulled him into a deep kiss fraught with emotions she wasn't yet capable of speaking out loud.

He slipped out of her enticing warmth and lay beside her, pulling a blanket up to cover them both from the chill in the room that neither had noticed in the heat of their lovemaking. She kept her eyes on him, watching the muscles of his back and shoulders ripple as he adjusted the covers over them both then lay down next to her, laying one arm across her midsection and lowering his head to kiss her gently on one bare shoulder.

She found him utterly fascinating sometimes, the way he seemed to transition so effortlessly from a hardened monster slayer into such a tender,  _caring,_  man. But she could tell he struggled with the conflicting personas as much as she did. _Can I be the person I_ need _to be and still have something resembling happiness?_ She had resisted it so far... the happiness part... in fear of it becoming a distraction from her ultimate goal, and the detachment had become second nature to her. But something Flemeth had said kept nagging at her, making her think her ultimate goal this time might actually  _depend_  on her finally breaking down that wall. But she was so accustomed to fortifying herself every time someone got that close to her it had become a habit and ultimately resulted in her pushing whoever it was away at a certain point. Geralt had just gotten the closest anyone ever had to finally tearing her armor away and reaching her heart, but she'd still managed to make a last-ditch effort to keep her defenses up, as painful as it ended up being in the end. A small part of her understood this, but she was still largely in denial, thinking that, no, giving in to emotion would still be a bad thing. She didn't realize that the reflex was just a misdirected sense of self preservation.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind finally and focused on the comforting weight of him behind her and his arm wrapped around her. Eventually she finally succumbed to the exhaustion of the day that had already been too long in spite of it only being late afternoon.

* * *

_She stood on a mountaintop that was already familiar from past dreams. She felt a strong presence behind her and turned to see the immense pale form of the white dragon crouched there. It was the same form she was so familiar with actually possessing in other dreams. She heard a low howl echo around her and turned back to see Geralt standing next to a large, white wolf. There was a massive chasm yawning between them, and she could see the familiar architecture of the Elven temple beyond it. Geralt's figure stood silently at the edge of the chasm, his hair blowing in the chill wind, while the wolf continued to howl beside him, its voice tearing into her very soul with its mournful cry. The dragon behind her trumpeted a cry of her own and stretched out her wings, turning her large head to look at Solona expectantly._ I'm the one who has to cross the chasm _, she realized, and looked back at the massive cleft with sudden apprehension. She turned away suddenly, shaking her head and crying out over and over, "I can't, I can't..."_

* * *

It was deep night when Geralt awoke abruptly to the sound of her cries, instantly aware of her words and knowing they were the same words he saw forming on her lips across the chasm in his own dream.

He held her tightly and whispered in his deep voice, "Shhh. Yes you can. Yes you can." He stroked her hair gently and held her, realizing that she was awake when her body tensed in his arms.

She turned her head to look at him with a pleading expression. "Geralt. I can't. I don't know how."

He continued to hold her, at a loss for words of comfort. Finally he said, "We'll figure it out somehow, I promise."


	15. The Stronghold

The evening after Solona's ordeal with King Henselt, they found an alchemist with a rare telecommunicator mirror that they could use to contact Triss in order to discuss her conducting Solona's initial trial.

Geralt stood before the large mirror and uttered the simple spell that would allow it to call to one of its counterparts. Solona recognized the words as something similar to the rituals she and Morrigan had performed to access the Eluvian's portals. After a moment the reflection of the room they were in faded into a dull haze and then clarified again to show an unfamiliar chamber, comfortably decorated with brightly colored fabrics and lit candles. A pretty, though slightly disheveled, red-haired woman wearing a long, silk robe tied at the waist came into view and sat on a small stool before the mirror. Solona could see obscured movement off too the side but it was distorted by the mirror's beveled edge.

"Geralt?" the woman asked, blinking in surprise. She turned and shook her head sharply at someone else in the room with her, then turned back with a slightly confused smile on her face.

Geralt was stiffly formal. "Triss," he cleared his throat. "It's good to see you, I hope you're doing well. I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time..." his eyes shifted to the side briefly towards the obscured movement.

"Of course not. Geralt... I've been hoping to talk to you. I hate how we left things. I feel I owe you an apology."

"Nonsense, Triss," he said softly, the formality in his voice melting into tenderness that wasn't lost on Solona. "I'm as much to blame as... anyone. I just don't want there to be any hard feelings between us. But that isn't why I called... I need your help with something." He turned his head slightly to where Solona stood silently behind him.

Triss' eyes shifted over and took in the pretty white-haired young woman standing in the background. Solona stepped close to Geralt and felt his hand come around and clutch her waist almost possessively. She smiled what she hoped was a friendly smile in spite of being slightly intimidated by the woman in the mirror.  _I'm NOT jealous of her,_  she tried to convince herself.

Geralt introduced them. Triss made a small mental note of how his voice broke slightly when he said Solona's name. She looked at them both with a bewildered half-smile on her face.  _Where had he found this one?_  she wondered,  _And why is she so important to him?_

"I'm listening," she said, urging him to explain what he needed.

"Triss," he hesitated, "It's important that this conversation is private. I trust Eskel with my life, but would prefer it if you're the only one in the room. I'm sorry."

She looked momentarily shocked and then her expression became irritated. Solona could swear she heard her cursing  _Dandelion_  under her breath and stifled a small laugh. Triss smiled demurely and said, "Just give me a moment," and got up from her seat. A moment later she returned. "He's gone to find us some dinner... we have time for you to tell me what it is you need."

His explanation of the situation surrounding the prophecy ended up taking quite awhile and Triss listened with rapt attention. When he got to the part about Solona undergoing the Trial of the Grasses, Triss looked at Solona in alarm, asking, "Are you serious? Why would you want to do that? It's incredibly painful, not to mention the survival rate..."

Solona held the other woman's gaze and said with steely resolve, "I understand the risks. It won't be the first time I've submitted to a ritual that I knew I might not survive. Besides, it's necessary to fulfill the prophecy, so I can't  _not_  do it."

Triss regarded the other woman silently. Solona's strength of will reminded her of an old friend who she hadn't thought of in years - a woman who had been so willing to die for what she believed that it had, in fact, killed her.

Triss looked back at Geralt and witnessed something that made her heart melt a little. He was gazing at Solona with an expression of such raw adoration that she'd only wished he had shown her when they were together. But if she was at all honest with herself she had always known she wasn't the one who would draw that out of him. In spite of how difficult it had been, she had finally ended their relationship based on that understanding, and the understanding that she needed to be with someone who  _did_  look at her that way. The last time she had seen that look on his face was when Yennefer had been alive.

She worried for him, though. If this woman was so dead set on putting herself in mortal danger at every turn, she was bound to succeed eventually, and to the detriment of the people who loved her. She wondered if Solona even realized how much Geralt loved her. Because it was as obvious to Triss as her own longing for him used to be, and she knew he wasn't one to give in to those feelings lightly. She made her decision then, resolving that she and the other woman would have to have a long talk once they were in the same room together.

"Will you help us, Triss?" Geralt asked insistently, drawing her back from contemplation.

She nodded decisively. "I'll meet you at Kaer Morhen in three weeks' time."

* * *

Vesemir stood at the window in the armory of Kaer Morhen, gazing through his spyglass as evening gloom fell upon the river valley below. He watched as two figures on horseback rode slowly through the cold rain and mist up the narrow road to the fortress. One figure rode a chestnut horse, the other a white one, and they were followed by a mule overladen with supplies and a large, black dog that stuck close beside the white horse. He observed them as they navigated the wet, rocky terrain where the river was beginning to spill over the banks and obscure the path. When they grew closer he thought he recognized a familiar bearing in the cloaked and hooded rider on the chestnut steed. They paused for a moment and the lead rider gestured, pointing to something off the path, then they started riding down a bramble-obscured side-path towards the side of the fortress. When Vesemir saw this he knew Geralt had come home; only another Witcher would know of the lower tunnel entrance into the keep, as they rarely entered through the main gate.

He turned from the window and stowed his spyglass, then walked briskly down the staircase several flights to the main floor. In the kitchen he grabbed a lantern, lit it, and opened a small wooden door in one corner that led down into darkness. He reached the high-arched lower tunnel just as the large, solid gate at the opposite end opened with a grinding creak of stone on stone, letting in the dim grey light of the rainy evening. The two mounted figures were eerily silhouetted as they passed through.

He strode as far as the junction where they would need to turn to go up to the courtyard, and waited silently, holding the lantern aloft in the gloom. The lead horse sped up to a quick trot at its rider's urging. When it grew close he became certain of the rider's identity.

"Wolf!" he greeted Geralt with warm enthusiasm. "I was afraid you'd given up on us."

Geralt dismounted and immediately gathered the older man into a fierce embrace.

"Vesemir. I'm sorry for staying away so long. Unfortunately, I got a little caught up in the war."

The figure on the other horse had dismounted and was standing still hooded in the shadows, the black hound standing protectively by her side. The mule behind them brayed in indignation at being left standing in the dark.

Vesemir looked at the other figure and asked cautiously, "Who is your guest, Wolf?"

Geralt cleared his throat in an awkward way that made Vesemir give him an odd look.

Solona stepped forward abruptly and dropped her hood. "My name is Solona Amell, Master Vesemir. I'm here to become a Witcher."

Vesemir faltered almost imperceptibly then held his lantern up to get a better look at her. Very old memories came flooding back to him when he saw her pretty face framed by the short, white curls of her hair.  _The witch spoke the truth after all,_  he thought.

"Solona Amell..." he repeated her name with grave significance, then gave Geralt a serious glance.

"Wolf, I think we need to have a long overdue talk."

Geralt couldn't help but smile inwardly at the tone in the other man's voice, like he was about to learn about the birds and bees for the first time. But Vesemir was leading them up the tunnel to the courtyard and they were obliged to follow him or be left standing in darkness.

* * *

The three of them sat at a long table in the cavernous main hall of the keep. Vesemir had quickly stoked up the fire in the hearth to stave off the growing chill and served them all bowls of aromatic stew and crusty hunks of bread, along with a jug of something he referred to as "White Gull." Solona thought the strong liquor tasted at first of anise, but the flavor seemed to change with each sip, and it warmed her and gave her a pleasantly euphoric feeling. Geralt stopped her from reaching for a second serving, explaining that it was a mildly hallucinogenic beverage and she ought to pace herself.

Vesemir let the weary travelers eat and drink for several moments before he cleared his throat softly and began speaking.

"You were barely more than a suckling babe when I first saw you, Wolf," the man began, his eyes gazing into the fire at the recollection. "When the witch left you here she left instructions. You were to be raised and trained as a Witcher. She said that a time would come when the worlds would be in imminent danger. That a savior would come bearing the name of a southern monument... that this … woman... was to be put through the Witcher trials and the two of you would be sent together to the south to ensure the preservation of our worlds." His intense gaze turned to Solona who looked back at him with interest. He turned his eyes to meet Geralt's gaze and then cleared his throat and took a swallow of his drink before continuing. "She gave a few details of the … ritual the two of you would be doing, and its purpose."

He paused for several seconds, trying to find words. "Wolf. There's a reason there are no women Witchers. It was always too big a risk considering the particular disposition of Witchers when it comes to women."

Geralt's brows creased with suspicion. "Vesemir, Witchers are infertile, what would that matter?"

Vesemir shook his head. "No, they are not, actually." He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "We're perfectly fertile as a species, provided we have an appropriate  _mate_. The mutations we undergo merely render us genetically incompatible with other races."

Solona, who had been listening quietly, put it together first and her curiosity got the better of her. "Vesemir, if Witchers could actually procreate all along... with other Witchers... then why continue putting young boys through what must be a horribly painful experience just to continue your order?"

Vesemir sighed heavily. "If only it could be so simple, my girl. Two Witchers could indeed produce an offspring, but that offspring wouldn't be another Witcher - it would be a soulless creature lacking all humanity; a grotesque combination of the mutations running through the witchers' blood. The only things human that Witchers retain are our appearance and our psyche. Our reproductive glands are altered to such a degree that they no longer produce human genes. Anything born of a Witcher union would not be human in the slightest."

Solona sat with a shocked expression and looked at Geralt who returned her gaze, comprehension dawning on them both. He turned back to his mentor, warring emotions evident on his features. "But Vesemir, the prophecy says we have to make a  _child_  together. If what you say is true, how can we in good conscience fulfill it?"

Vesemir held up a hand in appeasement, and explained. "The ritual, if it's conducted properly, will ensure your child is strong and healthy and, at least in appearance, human. Of course it will ultimately be much more than a mere human child. But that's for you two to deal with when the time comes, and is not my concern. What  _does_  concern me is what happens in the interim. It will be months before the two of you are ready to conduct the ritual."

He looked at Geralt briefly then focused on Solona, "I must warn you that, once you begin the Trials, there will be a chance for you to become pregnant if you two are  _together_."

Her brows furrowed and she asked, "But surely there are herbs or potions to prevent it? We used to have something in Ferelden, but since my Joining it became a non-issue, so I haven't bothered for a couple years." She remembered the special tea Leandra used to prepare for her. The woman had never said in so many words why she insisted Solona drink it, making no similar requirement of her own daughter, but Solona had a feeling her aunt had caught on to the nature of her relationship with Garrett and felt the need to take certain measures on their behalf. It would have caused quite a scandal if he'd gotten her pregnant when their neighbors believed the two were brother and sister.

Vesemir nodded and said, "Aye, I'm sure there must be, but anything like that has the chance of interfering with the ritual. There's only one way to be sure."

She swallowed hard and nodded slowly in understanding, then turned to look at Geralt with a put-upon frown and attempted to finish Vesemir's train of logic, "After the trials begin, we can't..."  _Fuck,_  she thought, but wasn't sure whether she was finishing her own thought or simply cursing to herself _._

Geralt shook his head in response. He had suspected as much but only needed confirmation. He felt like he should regret not distancing himself from her early on like he had originally intended, but just couldn't find it in himself. Every second of every moment they had spent together so far raced through his mind and none of it was worthy of regret. He reached out a hand and cupped her cheek, caressing softly with his thumb.

The frustrated expression on her face was almost comical. With a slight smirk, he said, "You're a strong girl, you can handle it."

She looked back at him with a playfully seductive smile and slid a hand up his thigh, squeezing gently when she reached his groin and incited the usual response. "It's not  _me_  I'm worried about."

* * *

They had made good time on the route from Ard Carraigh to Kaer Morhen, so had beaten Triss' promised arrival date by several days. The day after their arrival Geralt gave her the grand tour of the castle, which was little more than drafty ruins and very sparsely decorated except for one room at the top of a tower, its lavish comfort at odds with the decor of the other rooms. "You guys actually  _live_  here during the winter?" she asked, incredulous.

"The alternative would be camping in the snow," he explained. "We're not exactly welcome in more populated areas for more than the length of time it takes to fulfill a contract. Especially not for an entire season. People tolerate us, but they don't really want us near them. The state of Kaer Morhen itself is a testament to that." He had told her some of what had happened during the battle that had destroyed half the fortress. Solona noticed that the fortress still had ample fireplaces, which  _might_ make up for the gaping holes in half the walls. And it was shelter, and it did somehow have a nice homey feel to it in spite of its vast scale.

Along with Vesmir they made an inspection of the laboratory and their inventory of herbs and mutagens. Vesemir pulled the various colored jars out one by one and they cataloged them, adding the recently acquired Koshchey heart to the collection. They were missing only two of what they needed. "The brain stem of a Kikimore queen, and the Vapors of the Hunt," Vesemir said with a sigh.

"We  _would_ need the vapors," Geralt grumbled and remembered some of the things the witch had said to Solona several weeks earlier.  _It's definitely coming back to haunt me,_  he thought.

When Solona inquired he explained that the Vapors of the Hunt came from the Red Wraiths - ethereal creatures that followed the King of the Wild Hunt.

"Or from the King himself if one was lucky enough to kill him."

Solona asked, "But we don't actually need to go after the King, right?"

Geralt shook his head. "The wraiths are easy enough to deal with, but when we go hunting for them there's a high likelihood that  _he_  will show up for the fun, especially if we meet him on Midwinter night. He revels in a fight, especially if there's the potential for death. There are ways of dealing with him without having to actually fight him, at least."

Solona asked, "And what about the Kikimore Queen?"

"Not an issue, really... just go to any nearby cave or mine and we can find one."

Vesemir finished organizing the bottles on the shelf and stepped out of the lab, muttering something about inventory and ledgers. Solona walked slowly around the room, pausing to inspect the contents of the myriad odds and ends on the shelves that she recognized as monster parts. There were several racks hanging from the low ceiling from which hung bundles of dried herbs. Along one wall was a deep alcove with greenish glowing lights dangling from above it and several planters with strange plants growing in them. She walked over to inspect the alcove and was fascinated when she discovered that the glowing lights were in fact hanging mushrooms.

"What are these plants?" she asked.

Geralt was still inspecting the contents of the shelves and turned to her. "Those are what we call the grasses. By themselves they're merely hallucinogenic plants, but mixed together in the right ratios, and with a touch of the right magic, they imbue the initiate with special - permanent - abilities, and they form a sort of matrix in the genetics that is ideal for receiving the mutagens. That is, if the initiate survives the process."

"The grasses," she said softly in recognition, noting his detached tone. "How long does the trial actually take?" she asked, looking at him and gauging his response.

He continued to make an effort to keep his tone neutral and clinical. "It depends on how quickly the initiate responds to them. The potion is administered in measured doses. Depending on how the initiate responds, the doses may be increased gradually. It could take as long as a week, or only a couple days. Normally if it takes longer than four or five days then it's unlikely that the initiate will survive." He turned back to what he was doing, avoiding looking into her eyes. She merely nodded and continued looking around the room.

When she completed her circuit she turned to the center of the room where there was a low, circular stone dais upon which stood a large stone table affixed with a series of leather straps and buckles along each side. The circumference of the dais was etched all the way around with unfamiliar runes.

She stepped up onto the dais and toyed absently with one of the buckles of the restraints. "Is this where it happens?" she asked quietly.

He turned and saw her standing by the table. "Yes" he said, then walked slowly over to stand just behind her.

She felt his breath at her ear as he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly for several seconds, then she heard his gravelly voice murmur in her ear, "We still have a few days before it starts. We should make the most of it."

His lips nestled softly in the delicate hollow behind her earlobe and she felt his tongue dart out and trail down the side of her neck, stopping at the opening of her tunic and biting gently, the sensation sending a sharp pulse straight between her thighs.

His touch had banished the sudden worry she'd been feeling about what might happen to her in only a few more days. "Mmm, yes, you do have a point," she said in a low, husky voice, tilting her hips to push her backside into him. He slipped both hands under her tunic and slid them up the firm flesh of her stomach to cup the more pliant flesh of her breasts, tweaking both nipples between thumb and forefinger, then drawing small, tightening spirals around them with his index fingers.

She let out a soft moan at the sensation, leaning her head back against his shoulder and reaching a hand up to slide fingers into the hair at the back of his head. At her urging he tilted his head down to find her lips, kissing her hungrily. He slid his right hand down her stomach, breaching the waist of her trousers in search of her sweet spot. She heard and felt the deep rumble in his chest when his fingers found her wet and ready and began to stroke her. Her breathing quickened as his deft fingers teased at her, drawing soft sounds of pleasure. He slipped two fingers inside and drew them out again, swirling them around the small, pulsing knob that was nestled in her soft, slick folds. She gasped and pushed her bottom back against him insistently.

His other hand slid away from her breasts and worked to quickly unfasten the laces of her breeches, pulling them down to expose her supple behind. Then he undid his own laces, releasing his erect sex and letting it drift softly over her backside. His other hand remained between her thighs, working her slowly and steadily. She bent slightly at the hips in encouragement, hands before her on the stone table for support. He wasted no more time, grabbing the soft flesh of her behind with his free hand and slamming home into her eager depths.

The sounds of their coupling drowned out the footsteps of Vesemir returning to the room with his inventory ledger. He stood in the doorway behind them for a moment, mouth agape until he realized what he was witnessing. He promptly altered course, spinning and heading back the way he had come, shaking his head and grumbling under his breath.

* * *

They took advantage of those few days in the most productive way they could think of, which involved fucking in every corner and on nearly every surface of the semi-ruined castle, much to the chagrin of the fortress' most senior resident who eventually resorted to spending much of the daylight hours out of doors.

Late in the morning of the third day - the day Triss was due to arrive - they lay entwined and sweaty on what Solona had learned was "the best bed in Kaedwen." The bed was indeed incredibly comfortable in spite of her understanding that it, and most of the decor in the tower room it sat in, were elaborate illusions left behind by Triss the last time she had stayed at Kaer Morhen. Solona was sitting up against a pile of the most comfortable illusory pillows, and was covered to her hips by the softest cotton sheet.  _This bed was made for sex, without a doubt_ , she thought and chased away the next thought abruptly. She didn't really want to know who else had gotten up to what else in it. Geralt lay on his stomach next to her, his head resting on her thighs and one arm draped across them. She was stroking his head gently, twining fingers through his loose hair.

Solona had gotten a sense of desperation in Geralt's attention to her, and had finally drawn out of him his concern for her well being during the Trial of the Grasses that would begin the following day. "So you thought you would fuck me to death to save me the pain?" she said to him with an irreverent laugh. This prompted him to embrace her tightly about the hips with both arms, burying his face in her lap and letting out a low, forlorn sigh. She felt suddenly guilty for joking about it. "Geralt, I'll survive," she said gently and resumed stroking his hair.

 _But it_ isn't  _the Trial of the Grasses that really worries me now,_ he craned his neck to look up at her, peering at her as she looked down at him between her pert breasts, her face framed by a fringe of pale, sweat-dampened curls. When he met her eyes he could sense the familiar chasm between them still. It perplexed him how they could feel so close in moments like this, yet still so incredibly distant. He wished he could find a way to reach her, but somehow knew that she was the one who would need to bridge this gulf between them.

 _The dreams are how I know,_  he thought. They continued to share the same recurring dream and she had awakened in distress from it on more occasions than he cared to count. He could tell it was wearing on her from the pained expression that crossed her face as he lay there looking up at her. She was so unwavering in the face of certain danger, and even in the face of the intangible dangers of her impending trials, but she still had an irrational fear of the purely symbolic perils that lay before her in the dream. He gave her hips a comforting squeeze and bent his head to lay a soft kiss on her bare navel, tickling lightly with his tongue in the small indentation and eliciting a soft, breathy laugh from her.

There was a sudden hum of magical energy in the room that made Solona jerk her head up in alarm. Geralt tensed and closed his eyes, realization dawning on him. He had forgotten Triss used this room as the beacon for her portal spell and would be arriving here. Geralt murmured into Solona's belly, "Triss." He flipped over beneath the sheet and sat up next to Solona, resting his forearm on top of the sheet that covered one bent knee. When the red-haired sorceress stepped through the swirling circle of energy, Solona relaxed. "I see that now," Solona said, and drew her own sheet-covered knees up to obscure her bare breasts from their surprise visitor's view. She wasn't embarrassed, but saw no need for blatant nudity in front of a near stranger.

Triss exited the portal and stopped in the center of the room, the portal closing behind her with a soft *pop*. She was dressed in comfortable traveling clothes and a heavy cloak, and had a small pouch on a low-slung belt across her hips, and a larger pack slung over one shoulder. She was surprised at first to see people here - she had always thought of this as  _her_  room, after all. She realized then that of course this is where Geralt would have the girl stay. The normal Witcher quarters were woefully spartan and not very comfortable. But she supposed in light of the new guest, she would need to make do with one of the lower rooms during her stay - she was sure she could manage some level of her accustomed comfort with the right spells.

"Hello, Triss," Geralt said impassively.

"Um, hello Geralt. Solona." She noted his languid posture and the look of sated calm on his disheveled features. She cut her eyes to see his new friend had a similar appearance. Both were slightly flushed and there was the distinct aroma of sex in the air. At least she hadn't walked in on them actually  _in_ the act.  _Thank Melitele for small favors,_ she thought _._

She smirked and said sunnily in an attempt to break the ice, "Well, it's good to see the best bed in Kaedwen isn't going to waste. I'll... ah... just meet you two downstairs when you're more decent." She strode briskly down the staircase and out the door at the lower landing, shutting it gently closed behind her and stifling a small, giddy laugh.  _Well_ that _was bordering on embarrassing_.

* * *

Once they made themselves more decent, they went down to the main hall where they found Triss and Vesemir at the table in quiet conversation. Vesemir stopped speaking when he saw them and Triss turned to give them both a look of sympathetic understanding.

"I'm  _very_ sorry for the intrusion, you two," she said with an apologetic tilt of her head.

Geralt shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Triss. It's not as though we haven't been walked in on enough over the past three days." He shot a pointed look at Vesemir who snorted at him.

"It was hard  _not_  to 'walk in' on you two the way you were rutting like dogs everywhere in he fortress. Let's see... in the lab, in the kitchen, in the library, in the armory, in  _my room_..." he continued ticking off other locations and Triss' eyebrows shot up. Geralt had never been  _that_  amorous with her - she didn't think she'd have been able to keep up with him if he had been. And did he just say over the past  _three days_? But if what Vesemir had just explained to her was true she supposed she understood their desperation. Things would likely change dramatically for them both by the time her work was done here.

"Impressive," she said, looking at them both in surprise.

Solona cleared her throat and hesitated, not knowing exactly how she should act with the woman. "Just trying to... ah... stock up?" She met Geralt's gaze and in a mournful tone said, "I have a feeling it'll be a long winter, anyway." He gave her hand a squeeze and attempted a comforting smile.

"So why didn't Eskel come with you, Triss?" Geralt asked, changing the subject. He was curious since he knew the other Witcher would likely be headed to the fortress anyway.

Triss sighed and shook her head. "I offered, but apparently fear of portals is a common Witcher trait." She shot him a wry look. "Something about being afraid he'd end up in pieces. He opted to take the long route. He and Lambert should be here in a couple weeks if the weather's in their favor."

Geralt nodded in understanding. He would have likely made the same choice. He asked her, "Does he know why you left Vizima?"

Triss shook her head. "He was on the road before I opened the portal. And don't worry, he doesn't know why you contacted me... he thought it was just to say you were sorry and try to win me back, but I assured him it was too late for that."

She shot Solona a quick smile and said, "Solona, there are some preliminary tests I need to do in the lab before we start tomorrow. Can I steal you away from Geralt for a few hours? Then you two will have the rest of the evening to  _stock up._ " She gave the other woman a knowing smile and winked at her.

Solona nodded and got up to head across the main hall to the stairs that led down into the cellars where the lab was located. As Triss was standing to follow, she noticed Geralt's look of longing as his lover departed. She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze as she passed by, in an effort to comfort him.

When the women were gone, Vesemir made his own attempt at comfort. "Wolf, if you need to talk, I'm here." Geralt nodded acknowledgement and began to pour himself a drink but thought better of it, setting the carafe of White Gull back on the table with deliberate care. He stood and said, "I'll be up in the armory if you need me," then got up and strode in the opposite direction, heading up the stairs to the second floor.

* * *

Triss observed Solona with interest as they made their way down to the lab. She noted the easy confidence in her gait and the almost second-nature grace she had when she cast a spell to light the torches along the way. Her style of dress was unusual, but not outlandishly so. She was wearing a black leather skirt that rested snugly across her hips, with slits up the front for ease of motion, and high, supple leather boots underneath. She realized it was the same skirt she had seen her in when Geralt had first contacted her with their request, but instead of the matching laced leather top, she now wore a simple, loose white linen tunic that was loosely belted at the waist. She remembered thinking the first time she saw her that it was a more practical outfit than most sorcerers wore. Her kind tended towards fondness for rich fabrics and elaborate decorations; anything to show off their wealth. She leaned towards the practical herself, however, and could appreciate Solona's preference.

When they reached the lab, Solona went to lean against the stone table and Triss opened up a small cabinet and began searching for the equipment she would need. "I'm surprised this place is actually organized," she commented. "It's more than I would have expected considering the state it was in the last time I was here."

Solona let out a soft chuckle and grinned at Triss, "I think Vesemir was hiding down here for awhile the last two days. He probably figured it was safe since it was the first spot we … um… christened?"

Triss shot her a surprised glance and smiled back in understanding. "I see. I have to say, I really am impressed that you can actually keep up with him."

Solona shrugged a little. "Remember when I told you this wouldn't be the first ritual I've experienced that might have killed me?" Triss nodded. "One of the other ones did something to me... something that changed me in very minor ways, but one of the changes was an increased appetite... for sex as well as food." With a small sigh she added, "It won't be easy to just  _stop_  after having such a near constant supply of… sustenance… over the past couple months. If you have any words of advice I'd be happy to hear them."

Triss looked at her and thought she caught a slight air of desperation coming from the other woman. "Well, you may not be up to it for awhile after we're finished with the Trial of the Grasses. Beyond that, the only suggestion I can make is to try to find other outlets. I really wish I had more to offer." She looked faintly apologetic. "Not that it's any comfort, but it will be just as difficult for Geralt. And for more than just the need for release... I don't know if you realize how he feels about you..."

Solona stiffened perceptibly and looked at the floor with a deep frown.  _Looks like I hit a nerve,_  Triss thought cynically.

"Look. Solona," she said testily. "What is between you two is really none of my business, but the man means a lot to me. I just don't want to see him hurt."

She was content to leave it at that, but Solona shook her head slowly and whispered, "Neither do I." When Solona tilted her head back up and met her eyes, Triss could see that she meant it. She could also see that Solona was in the midst of an emotional struggle that she herself couldn't even fathom.  _If he loves her, how hard can it be?_  But loving Geralt had never been an issue for her so she realized she was just a little bit biased.

Solona could see that Triss' demeanor had suddenly turned a bit chilly. "Triss," she said quietly, "He means more to me than he knows. But I can't let my feelings interfere with fulfilling the prophecy."

Triss studied her for a long moment and sighed. With a small shrug she said, "I don't  _quite_  understand, but then I'm not in your position... I just don't see how it should preclude your happiness. The two of you seem good together. And the man  _loves_  you. I wished for  _years_  that he would look at me with even an ounce of the same affection he clearly feels for you. If you feel the same way, you need to tell him before it's too late."

Solona only nodded and gave Triss a small, pained smile. Triss decided to let it go. Time would tell, she supposed. There was no forcing these things, she knew that much at least.

With a more comforting tone she said, "Well, I'll be here until you've recovered from the trial. If you feel like talking to someone a little more removed from the situation, I promise not to judge."

Solona gave her a relieved smile, "That means a lot, Triss. Thanks. And there are a few things I'd like to talk to you about... things unrelated to Geralt. I've had a few odd experiences using my magic since I've been here and I'd like your take on them."

"Sure, I'd be happy to tell you anything you want to know," she said over her shoulder and then turned to walk over to the stone table carrying a small silver tray with several glass containers and a few small instruments. A few of the containers held small amounts of different colored liquids and a several others were empty.

"Are you squeamish around blood?" Triss asked when she set the tray down next to Solona, who hopped up to sit on the edge of the table.

"No. As a healer, it would be counterproductive for me to have issues with it, don't you think?"

Triss nodded, "That's very true. If you're a healer then it will make this much easier. Hold out your wrist."

Solona obliged, rolling up her sleeve and presenting her arm to the other woman.

Triss continued idle conversation. "So... tell me how the two of you met exactly?"

Solona felt a sting as the sharp blade Triss held broke the pale skin of her wrist and blood began to well up in a thick, crimson line. She winced at the pain and said, "I saved his life."

"Oh really?" Triss asked, intrigued. "I  _have_ to hear this story. The woman who saved the life of the infamous White Wolf."

While Solona recounted her first encounter with the Witcher, Triss held one of the small glass containers under Solona's wrist and murmured a brief spell. Blood trickled in a smooth line directly into the bottle and filled it up, then stopped flowing the second the container was full.

Solona looked at her wrist with interest. The wound was still open but the blood had ceased flowing out of it. "Will you need more?" she asked. Triss shook her head. "This should be plenty for now. Go ahead and heal it if you want." Solona traced a finger over the cut which closed neatly, leaving a pale but barely visible scar behind.

Triss was fascinated with Solona's story. "So you say you healed him in a  _bath_? How does that work?" she asked. She nodded in comprehension as Solona explained the mechanics of her spell and how it leached the poison from the victim. "It works for fevers, too," she added.

Triss looked at her with an expression of amusement, "And he woke up in the bath... with you?" Solona nodded and looked perplexed at the soft laugh Triss let out. "No wonder he's so taken with you. Geralt has kindof a  _thing_  for baths. And I don't mean he likes to stay clean, either. Talk about finding the right way to the man's heart without even trying."

"By the way," Triss said, pointing at the wound Solona had just healed on her wrist, "I can teach you how to get rid of the scars if you want. It's just a simple illusion spell... a glamour."

Solona shook her head, "I don't mind the scars... they're small reminders of where I've been in my life - the things I've survived. You know, I used to have hair the color of yours. And I wished for the longest time after it turned that I could change it back, but now... I don't think I'd change it even if I could." Her voice grew quiet and melancholy. "Besides, sometimes the worst scars a person has are invisible... there's no way to erase the ones you can't see."

Triss stopped what she was doing to study the other woman briefly. Solona's gaze was fixed on the glow of fire visible through the grate in the small pot-belly stove across the room. Triss thought she saw a small flicker of disquiet in her eyes that quickly disappeared before she turned back to watch Triss work.

Solona watched as Triss distributed the blood sample between the empty containers and used a small glass dropper to place small measures of the other substances in each one. She murmured an incantation each time and held each bottle up to the lamplight to observe the results.

"What is it you're doing exactly?" Solona asked.

Triss explained, "These substances are the components that will go into the solution used for the trial. Hopefully it will give us some idea of how receptive your system will be to the ritual. So far everything looks good... better than good, actually."

"What would bad results look like, just out of curiosity?" she asked.

Triss took an empty jar and pricked the tip of one finger with the knife, squeezing a few drops into the glass jar. She took a dropper from one of the solutions and dripped a small amount into her blood, which promptly burst into flame and burned for a second before going out.

"Ouch," Solona said in response to the demonstration. "So does that mean it will be a breeze for me? Or just that I'm less likely to keel over from it?"

"It will still be an ordeal. You'll experience incredible pain at the beginning of each stage and will likely be unconscious and have lucid dreams for most of it. On the plus side, when you recover you'll have a Witcher's reflexes as well as their heightened senses."

Solona said thoughtfully, "Sort of like a Harrowing and a Joining combined."

Triss began cleaning up the equipment from the tests. While she was busy, Solona hopped off the table and said, "I think I saw Vesemir drinking some tea down here the other day, would you like some?"

"Tea would be wonderful," Triss said, then cocked her head and asked, curious, "This harrowing and joining... Were those the other rituals you've undergone? Something sorcerers are required to do in your world?"

"Sort of," Solona replied while she found a pair of clean ceramic mugs and began to prepare two cups of tea. "The Harrowing is something that Apprentice mages are required to undergo - it tests our ability to resist the influence of demons. Those that fail are executed on the spot. Some young mages opt for what's called the rite of tranquility rather than take the risk. It's unfortunate because the curriculum at the Circle doesn't include the kind of training of Will that would actually help the apprentices resist a demon's lure, so it's like they get thrown in the water without even being taught to swim. They only have their natural instincts to rely on... no training whatsoever. Luckily I didn't grow up there so I already knew how to  _swim_ before my Harrowing came around."

She paused for a second, pouring hot water from a kettle, and then continued. "And the Joining ritual is the induction ritual into the Grey Wardens. I was conscripted from the Circle, but would have joined them willingly had that been an option. That ritual has about a thirty percent survival rate, at least in my experience... and if you refuse it at the last minute apparently they also execute you. They don't want their secrets getting out, I guess."

She handed Triss a steaming mug and they sat on two stools near one of the work tables.

Triss nodded in understanding at her last comment. "The Witcher order is like that. I think I'm the only outsider they've ever shared their secrets with, and it was like pulling teeth to get them to finally let me in on them. I suppose it wasn't an accident that they'd rather an initiate die than take precautions to determine whether he might even survive in the first place. There haven't been any new initiates since I started researching the ritual, but hopefully these tests I've done will help you at least. Even if it just provides peace of mind."

"But the Harrowing sounds horrible!" Triss said with a look of utter shock. "Is it really that easy for demons to access potential hosts in your world? Are the barriers really that weak?"

Solona nodded and took a small sip of tea, testing the heat. "We access our power directly from the Fade, so, yes, the veil is very thin and virtually nonexistent in some places. It's clearly different here, though. I haven't been able to access the Fade since I've been here, but I've had no trouble casting spells - if anything it's been easier."

Triss said, "Well, it takes quite a bit of work to tap into the  _Fade_  as you refer to it. We have other names for it here. Only the most powerful sorcerers have any chance at doing it, and only those who have broken away from the Brotherhood have even tried - we police each other fairly diligently to prevent such things from occurring. But like you said, for the most part we don't need to access it. After the Conjunction there was apparently so much residual magic left behind that there would be an ample supply forever, and it seems to replenish itself, too. There have been studies to find out the sources but none of them have been conclusive. The most common theory is that the magic goes through a cycle similar to precipitation. There's a finite amount, but it's constantly being recycled."

Solona looked at her with curiosity and asked another question. "What about these 'Places of Power'? I encountered one in Ard Carraigh and it was a rather strange experience. Geralt seemed a little surprised at how I reacted to it."

Triss explained, "Places of power are concentrated pockets of magical energy that you can tap into with a small ritual to gain a sort of magical boost. What happened with the one you found?"

Solona shook her head and shrugged. "I'm not sure, really. I stood where it was, but I didn't perform any ritual to access the power. It felt like the power was just infusing me suddenly the moment I stepped into it. And the spell I cast behaved oddly, too... Besides crushing a Koshchey with a gesture, the spell actually materialized with the image of a fist."

Triss was struck speechless for a moment. Koshcheys were nasty beasts and for someone to deal with one with such ease was unheard of. She quickly recovered her composure and said, "That is definitely  _odd_... you say you just stood on top of the Place of Power? Most sorcerers would have been repelled from it if they got that close - like two positively charged poles of a magnet. Maybe it has something to do with the way you're accustomed to accessing power, or maybe the power itself reacts differently to you in particular. I'll have to do some research when I get home. I'll let you know if I find anything interesting."

Solona hesitated for a second and said, "There was something else strange about … well about the Koshchey in particular. It was like I could sense it before we found it... the way I used to sense the darkspawn in my own world, through the … link... that's created during the Joining ritual. Why do you think I'd be able to sense a monster in this world using my link to the ones in my world?"

Triss sat thinking, idly tapping one finger on the tabletop. After a few moments she pursed her lips and said, "You know, I remember reading about the sorcerer that invented those spells... his name was Alzur. I used to have a copy of his grimoire but destroyed it after studying it. The spells are far too dangerous to actually use - the monsters they summon are nasty, as I'm sure you witnessed. He lived over a millenium ago - around the time of the Conjunction - and claimed to come from another world. Most of his writing was pretty crazy, or it sounded that way when I read it. Do you know what the 'Tevinter Imperium' is?"

Solona stared at her in disbelief. "Yes... the original Tevinter magisters are the ones who were the cause of all this. The blights in my world began around fifteen centuries ago when they got greedy for power and tried to use the Old Gods, who they purportedly worshiped, to gain more power for themselves. The accounts from my world conflict, though. If you believe the Chantry lore, it was the Old Gods who convinced the magisters to attempt to overthrow the Maker in his Golden City... The act corrupted them, and corrupted the Golden City, and now they continuously call to the Old Gods attempting to corrupt  _them_. Whenever they actually succeed at awakening one of the Old Gods, that's when we have a Blight."

Triss had been listening so intently that she didn't realize her tea had grown cold. She passed a quick hand over it to warm it and took another sip. "That is fascinating and it explains a lot. I wish I had a copy of Alzur's grimoire to show you. According to his writings, he was one of these Tevinter magisters but disagreed with what the others had planned... I always thought that odd because he was clearly batshit crazy, but apparently not  _as_  crazy as the rest of them. He wrote a lot about just wanting to access the power, but not wanting to disturb the balance of the worlds... like he knew something catastrophic would happen. His writing confirms much of what you just told me, but according to him, the Golden City was merely the nexus of magic and the Old Gods were the spirits that guarded it. He referred to seven guardians and speculated that there had to be three on guard at any given time to maintain the balance of the worlds, while the other four slumbered. The other magisters discovered a way to put all seven of the guardians into a deep, magical sleep in order to get past them. That's when Alzur says he defected, refusing to follow them any further. After that he speculated that putting all the guardians to sleep is what finally threw the nexus out of balance and caused the three worlds to collide. The nexus was destroyed - shattered - and pieces of it ended up strewn across the three worlds. Much of the power of the nexus remained within the Primordial Chaos - or the Fade as you call it."

Solona was gripping her mug tightly as she listened to Triss recount her recollection of Alzur's history. It all made so much sense now. And everything she'd assumed about how the Conjunction related to her own world was apparently incorrect. That the magisters themselves had caused it was a huge revelation, and the significance of the Old Gods to the other worlds was greater than she had anticipated. It was clear now that somehow the Old Gods were connected to the balance between the worlds. As long as at least three still existed, balance could be maintained. She pondered the thoughts for several moments before she finally remembered her original question.

She laughed softly and said, "It seems almost silly to care now, but what does this have to do with the Koshchey?"

Triss smiled, "Right! I'd almost forgotten. The later parts of Alzur's grimoire are mostly just about the spells he invented. When a sorcerer invents a spell the spell is infused with a bit of that sorcerer's own power, which is recognizable even if someone else casts it. Apparently the other magisters stole them from him to get past the nexus guardians, but he had rigged them to backfire if they were used by anyone besides himself. If Alzur invented the spells they used that ultimately turned them into these Darkspawn creatures, then their blood is likely infused with a bit of his magic, as is the Koshchey's. It's likely your Joining ritual included a small spell to detect his magic. With such a distinct marker that would be easy enough to do."

Their conversation turned to lighter subjects. Solona regaled Triss with some of the more humorous tales of her travels during the Blight, including the Qunari giant who had a weakness for cookies, and the deadly Elven assassin who took her to bed ("No! he didn't seduce me!" "Oh really? Because it sure sounds like he seduced you..."). Triss was curious about Solona's magical background but noticed how she skillfully evaded any of her questions and redirected the conversation onto other topics.

* * *

Geralt spent the rest of the day in a futile attempt to distract himself from his worries. He polished and sharpened his swords and then completely reorganized the armory. When that was finished he went out to the courtyard and began chopping wood.

When he'd run out of wood to chop he carried it in an armload at a time and methodically stacked it in the corner by the fireplace. When that was finished he stood staring at his handiwork for a moment and then checked the daylight. It was still only early afternoon.

Finally he beckoned to Lusa who had been following him around all day and watching him with intense interest while he worked.

"C'mon, boy. Let's go hunting for supper."

Lusa perked up immediately and ran to the door, clearly ready to have an adventure. The dog's enthusiasm brought a smile to Geralt's lips and helped to ease his tense mood a bit. He threw on his gear, grabbed a small bow from a rack near the door and they headed out.

They headed to the woods east of the castle where there was a small copse that he knew the native wild hens liked to nest within. He decided to test the dog's understanding of commands and crouched down to give him instructions on where to flush out the game. The dog trotted in and slowed to a steady prowl when he drew close to the mark - a large, dense evergreen shrub that was an ideal nesting spot for the birds. Geralt nocked an arrow and held the bow ready, waiting for the dog to act. A second later, Lusa leapt into the brush with a snap of teeth and their quarry burst forth in a roaring flutter of wings, headed for the safety of the sky. Geralt aimed and let fly arrow after arrow, his quick reflexes and focus making the rest of the world disappear for a few moments.

When he was satisfied he had shot enough, he stowed his bow and started towards the spot where he had seen most of them fall. He was surprised to see the dog trotting proudly out of the woods with at least three of them gripped by their necks within his large mouth. They went hunting for the other three birds together, the dog acting as scout and sniffing out where they had fallen. Geralt strung them up by their necks on a piece of twine and slung them across his shoulders before heading back to the castle.

He spent the next hour dressing out the small birds in the courtyard and then was compelled to reorganize the kitchen to a suitable point before he could start cooking. He found the mix of spices Solona had bought in the Ard Carraigh market that was similar to what she had brought from her world. He sniffed the open jar and the subtle blend of aromas that wafted out brought back acute, but very pleasant memories of their time on the road. Had it only been two months since she had saved him? It already seemed like he had known her forever, her presence had so indelibly made its mark on his life.

He was still contemplating the spice jar when Vesemir poked his head in cautiously. Seeing that he wasn't interrupting anything untoward, aside from a collection of naked birds that lay splayed out on the kitchen table, the older man strode into the room.

"Wolf, I see you've been busy today. I think we have enough wood to last us through the next  _three_ winters. Are you feeling okay?"

Geralt closed the jar of spices and looked at the other man, "What, I can't help you prepare for the winter? It's my duty as a Witcher."

Vesemir shook his head, "I appreciate your dedication, but your duties have changed, Wolf.  _She_  is your duty now."

"And that precludes any domestic responsibilities, I suppose?" Geralt asked with a wry smile. In an introspective tone he said, "Don't worry, Vesemir. I suppose I should just admit to myself that I'm doing all this for her, after all. Even if I can't… touch her… for the next few months, I at least want to make sure she knows she's... wanted."  _Loved._

"Wolf..." Vesemir began softly. "You'll still be with her. Neither of you are going anywhere. There are just  _things_  you can't do together. There's more to life... to  _love_... than carnal desire."

"I know this." Geralt replied roughly. "But knowing it doesn't make it easier. I know we've always... as Witchers we've always had certain appetites, but being with her is different. It's like my blood already knows it's meant to be entwined with hers. When we first met, her very  _presence_  started to awaken things in me that I never even knew  _existed._  It's like she was the first rain on a blighted landscape, washing away all the death, leaving only life yearning for the sun, and then the clouds parted and she was the  _sun_ , _too,_ and I have no control over my need to  _reach_  for her. I've been in this world for more than a century already, but it was when she arrived that I felt my life truly began. She's my  _life,_ Vesemir."

Vesemir listened quietly, hearing much more than his protege had actually said. He reached out and squeezed Geralt's shoulder gently. In a low voice he said, "You'll find a way, Wolf. You'll find a way."

Vesemir left and Geralt again made an attempt to remain focused on the moment and on the simple act of cooking supper. Lusa was sitting patiently by the fire watching him and gave a soft woof looking expectantly at the birds. Geralt gave the dog a rueful smile and said, "Okay, I guess it's time to get cooking then."


	16. The Trial of the Grasses

Geralt attempted to drown out the sounds of the screaming, of  _Solona's_  screaming, by throwing rocks. He didn't want to be too far from her so the only thing he could think of to occupy himself was clearing the rubble from the caved in corridors in the castle's cellar. Vesemir had mentioned to him that Kaer Morhen used to have a bath fed by hot springs in one of the rooms off the cellar corridors, so Geralt decided he would start digging for it and hope the chamber hadn't been caved in like much of the subterranean structure beneath the castle.

Solona's anguished cries continued to echo down the corridors as he worked. He was at least comforted by the idea that her system was receptive to the grasses. Triss had been true to her word on that. The sorceress had thoughtfully given him a small demonstration of the difference between Solona's blood's and her own blood's reaction to the solution. So he was hopeful. But it didn't help his anxiety over hearing her screams now. He'd witnessed the trials of so many Witchers and this was nothing different, except that the subject today was  _Solona_. Hearing the sounds of her agonized screams seemed to tear at his very soul.

He threw another large rock with a harsh yell and it shattered into pieces on the far wall.

His mind wandered again to the previous evening. He had cooked a small feast for them all to share, and then wandered down to the lab to find Triss and Solona and call them to supper. He found them engrossed in conversation with each other. She had turned to face him as he leaned in the doorway watching them, a slow smile spreading across her face that seemed as radiant as the sun, causing a deep warmth to spread through his body. How had his longing for her become so intense? Was it just the thought of being compelled to hold back after tonight that was making every second in her presence feel more charged with desire?

He suddenly remembered the first time he had tasted her and his tongue was flooded with her flavor. He felt the familiar throb between his thighs and let out a low groan in the shadows of the corridor he was clearing. He shook his head savagely. These thoughts were as much torture for him as hearing her screams was. Another rock hit the far wall and broke into pieces with a loud crunch.

He kept reflexively going back to the previous evening in his mind. They had both seemed more subdued than usual. After supper she had insisted on a bath for some reason, even though they had just bathed the evening before. The previous bath had been a rowdy affair that had resulted in more water on the floor than in the tub and their two slippery bodies entwined and writhing together on the rug before the fire. But last night she had been content just to soak in the hot water, resting her back against him, his arms around her naked shoulders. He had snagged one of the bottles of good wine she had bought and brought it up to her room with them, so they were both mildly buzzed and just enjoying the feeling of being together.

And they talked. About everything and nothing in particular. She told him about her life growing up, in bits and pieces. It turned out she had left out quite a bit from the stories she'd told him and Dandelion in Ard Carraigh. She grew sad when she talked about her young cousin who Flemeth had revealed had died on the run from the Blight. And she told him of her other two cousins, the dead girl's brothers, her tone growing tender when she spoke of the older one, a young man named Garrett Hawke.  _First love_ , he assumed and felt only a small pang of jealousy that dissipated quickly.

His stories were all about fighting monsters and he seemed reluctant to share them at first, feeling like he should be able to share something more from his past, something with deeper significance to him, but he still had no memory of those details. She seemed to sense this and began telling him stories of fighting monsters in her own world, recounting tales of battles with ogres and dragons and darkspawn. Her tale of her fight against a Sloth demon was one of the most harrying stories. Of being trapped in a dream world, having to navigate a perplexing maze and try to convince her friends that they, too, were trapped. But the Broodmother had to be the most horrific thing he'd ever heard of. He'd encountered some nasty monsters, but nothing as unmistakeably evil as that. By and large the evillest creatures he had encountered in his life had been human. But he guessed that many of the creatures she had fought had once been human as well. It made him wonder sometimes if Witchers hadn't been hunting the wrong creatures all along.

They had made love on the rug before the fire again, but with less desperate intensity than the previous evening and more deliberate attention to each other. Afterwards she had begun taking inventory of his scars for the second time since he'd known her, tracing each one with a soft touch and waiting patiently for the story that accompanied it. He indulged her, but was surprised this time when he realized he could remember the source of every one, even though he was sure he had lost his memory long after receiving many of them.

When she had exhausted the stories of his scars, which she had strategically concluded with a scar on his upper thigh... (werewolf attack six years ago), they made love again and then he began exploring her own history as it was etched into her skin, requesting a story for each small mark he encountered. She had few scars, but two in particular were clearly worse than the others. He knew about the one that crossed her chest, but she had another that was lower down, that looked like it had come from a sword piercing through her ribcage below her right breast. He learned that she had gotten it during the Battle at Ostagar where many of her order had died, and that the wound would have killed her if it hadn't been for Flemeth's intervention.

When he traced the thin scar on her jaw she had flinched and claimed she didn't remember where she had gotten that one. He had creased his brow in concern but hadn't pushed. There were clearly things in her past that she didn't wish to share with him and he couldn't bring himself to pressure her to divulge things she wasn't willing to offer openly.

Geralt came back to the present abruptly when he realized how deafeningly  _quiet_ it had become. In a sudden panic he ran at a full sprint towards the lab. He burst through the doorway breathless and drenched in sweat. Triss was bent over Solona's still form, stroking her forehead gently and murmuring quiet words.

"Triss, what's wrong?" Geralt practically yelled, his brow heavily creased with worry.

The sorceress strode quickly over to him, saying in a steady, quiet voice, "Geralt, she's fine. She made it through the first stage. She did great. She's  _fine_ , Geralt."

He turned his panicked gaze to Solona's limp body still strapped to the stone table. Finally he registered what Triss had said.  _She's fine._  He suddenly slumped down on the floor by the door, resting his back against the wall. He buried his face in his gloved hands, sobbing silently in relief. He felt Triss crouch down beside him, her hand stroking his shoulders quietly in an effort to comfort him. "Shhh... She'll be fine Geralt. She's very strong, you know. She'll sleep now, hopefully for several hours. I'll call you when she wakes up so you can talk to her before I start the second stage."

He nodded silently and stood, turning his head to glance back at Solona's sleeping form as Triss ushered him back out of the lab. He met Vesemir halfway up the corridor and let his mentor lead him out of the darkness.

* * *

_She was weightless, floating like a dandelion tuft on the lightest breeze. The room seemed to spin below her for a moment until she figured out she could control her movements and halted the spinning, drifting gently above the still form of her body. She watched, detached, as the figure below her lay breathing deeply, sleeping an exhausted sleep. But her consciousness was here, wide awake and unfettered by corporeal limitations. She tested her boundaries, gently pushing forward with her will. She floated to where Triss stood nearby, a look of gentle concern on her face as she watched Solona's body sleep. The sorceress radiated calm, confident power infused with kindness and love. She hovered around her for a moment then moved on._

_She pushed further and found herself floating in the main hall. Geralt was standing by the fireplace, leaning against the stone mantle with his head resting on one forearm, staring into the flames. His other hand hung limply by his side. He was hurting, she realized. She floated down to hover before him, reaching out to smooth the worry from his face, but she had no body, no fingers with which to caress his skin. Instead, her will expanded and enveloped the Witcher within it, forming a pocket of radiant warmth around him as she attempted to comfort him. His eyes closed and he let out a deep sigh. "Solona..." she heard him whisper softly and she felt the tension gradually ease out of his body. She stayed there a moment, embracing him with her will, and then she was compelled to move on._

_They called to her and she was unable to resist the pull of their wills in her current form. She went to them in the space of a thought, finding herself floating abruptly amidst swirling eddies of power in a vast space as wide open as the sky and simultaneously as dark as midnight and as bright as midday. They had no forms but she could sense their familiar wills surrounding her, embracing her. Their two voices resonated deeply in harmony, "We are waiting. We are ready."_

_She felt her consciousness being pushed backwards through time and found herself floating across an icy wasteland. She found Geralt standing among snow covered ruins with his sword poised over the form of a man in heavy armor who lay unconscious and bleeding in the snow. He looked at the man impassively, then turned to face an immense ethereal figure. The figure glowed strangely and hovered above the ground. It wore a ragged cloak over heavy armor and upon its head sat a large, pointed crown, the eyes just below it flickering with intense blue light. It held in one had a huge scythe that glistened with the same cold light as its eyes._

" _We meet again, Wolf," the figure said, its voice deep and grating like rusted steel. "Are you ready to fulfill your destiny?"_

_Geralt glowered at him. "In spite of what you may believe, my destiny is not yours to determine."_

" _With each soul you take you come closer to serving me, Wolf. That is your destiny. Your soul is mine, as is the soul of the man you're about to kill. Yield and let me take what belongs to me."_

" _Never! This is between him and me," Geralt spat._

" _You aim to kill him anyway," the figure said through a smug sneer._

" _True, but for_ my  _reasons. And they are nothing to you. Clear off while you can. Go before it's too late."_

" _I offer one more chance. When next we meet I_ will _fight you and end your flight from death. Join me, Wolf. Together we can rule this world. The Witchers never told you of your true origins. If you only knew the power you could possess. You belong to me, Wolf."_

_Geralt bristled and yelled, "Lies!" He charged with his steel sword drawn and spun in a pirouette, slashing across the now empty air where the taunting figure once stood._

_He cursed softly under his breath at the empty space before him, then turned back to the bloodied figure laying prone upon the ground. He walked to stand over him with his steel sword raised. The man peered up with a fearful, desperate look and reached out hands that shimmered with a spell making Geralt's sword disappear. Geralt cursed again and unsheathed his other sword. He stood over the man, straddling his armored chest, and centered the tip of the silver blade over his heart._

_The man cried out, "But that sword is for monsters!" just as Geralt plunged the blade into him with a grunt, piercing easily through his heavy armor. The man let out a strangled cry then lay limp on the blood spattered snow._

_She floated above, watching as the scene unfolded, and heard their voices in her mind, "Beware of those who would twist the prophecy to their own ends, Gwynrhena. They will seek to use you and you must not allow it. You are meant for us, or the worlds will realize this bitter end."_

_Harsh winds began to pick up in the snowy wasteland and she was carried away on a heavy gust, over a dead, icy landscape that she could tell once held human cities. Wind howled and snow swirled around her until she could no longer see where they were sending her._

_After several moments the snow began to clear again and she found herself hovering over the temple from her dreams. She saw two white-haired figures enter the temple hand-in-hand far below her. She pushed closer and found herself inside the temple but there was no one there, only the fading echo of words spoken in a foreign, feminine voice, "_ The world will be reborn of Hen Ichaer, of a planted seed, a seed that will not sprout but will burst into flames. _"_

_She felt a sudden tug on her consciousness and then she was violently hurtled back into her body. The pain of rejoining her corporeal form was excruciating and she cried out in agony._

* * *

Her sudden scream brought him abruptly off the stool he was resting on. She was gasping desperately for breath as though she had forgotten how her lungs were supposed to work. Her eyes were open wide and staring at the ceiling, and finally came to rest on him as he bent over her, his face full of anguished emotion. For some reason his expression suddenly struck her as comical and she started laughing uncontrollably.

His look turned from anguished to concerned, and then to indignant as she continued laughing. She had tears streaming down her face when she finally forced out between breathless laughs, "I'm sorry... you just looked so... so  _tortured_... I shouldn't laugh because it's so very sweet. I just can't help it."

He sat down solidly again on the stool he'd been sitting sentinel on for the past few hours and just looked at her, deflated, then he began to smile when the absurdity of the situation struck him and he finally laughed out loud, her own laughter infecting him with its unabashed mirth.

Her laughter gradually subsided and she grew quiet. "Geralt," she said in inquiry, and he grew sober again at her change of tone.

"What is it, Sol?"

She attempted to turn onto her side to face him and realized she was still restrained. She shot a frustrated glare at the buckles on her wrists until he got up and freed her from them.

She sat up, wincing slightly, and dangled her bare legs over the edge of the table. She was dressed only in a sheer white linen shift that didn't leave much to the imagination and he could see the outlines of hips and breasts clearly beneath it. The slightly darker skin of her erect nipples pushed tantalizingly at the fabric. There was a small tie at the wide neck that had fallen off her shoulder on one side. He briefly imagined himself reaching out and untying it, and watching the fabric slide down off her shoulders, revealing all of her to him.

She gazed at him for a moment, her eyes burning with fevered intensity. "What is it?" he finally asked again, dragging his eyes away from her tempting curves.

Her voice wavered slightly from weakness. "While I was asleep, I went... to other places. I think the Old Gods were showing me things... I don't know why yet. But I saw something strange... and disturbing. I saw you in a place covered with ice and snow. You were speaking to this evil creature... and then you killed this man." She recounted the conversation she had overheard, and the commentary from the Old Gods that had followed.

Geralt stared at her, shocked.

"Geralt, what did he mean when he said you belonged to him? And why didn't he try to fight you there? What  _was_  he?"

He was silent for a moment as he met her expectant gaze. He cleared his throat softly and looked away, focusing his gaze at some random point across the room. His eyebrows were knit in a kind of pained expression before he began to speak in a low, quiet voice that was rough with emotion.

"That thing... used to be a man, of a sort. He's King of an Elven world separate from ours, not one of the three worlds that was affected by the Conjunction. He's known in our world as the King of the Wild Hunt."

He paused for a moment, gathering his words. He saw a shadow of confusion spread across her features and nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

"I know … we talked about needing a mutagen from his wraiths, and I mentioned that he couldn't be killed. That's not entirely true... He didn't try to  _fight_ me in that vision because he knew I was probably the only person who could actually _kill_  him. He didn't want to take the chance, the coward."

She waited expectantly for him to continue.

With a sigh he shrugged softly and said, "He's plagued me for years... ever since my resurrection. I never really understood why until recently. That day at the Elven ruins when... Flemeth... spoke to you. Something she said made it all finally clear..." He trailed off and then met her eyes with a look of subtle desperation. He spoke in a near whisper, "He's my father."

Several uncharitable thoughts about Flemeth went through Solona's head at that point, which she managed to censor, hanging on only the important points. "He's your father... and that puts you in a unique position to actually cause him mortal harm? He sounds like a complete ass by the way..."

He gave her a mildly amused look and nodded, then said, "Legend has it that only one of his own blood can kill him, and only if they carry love in their heart."

"So if you can kill him, why is he chasing you?"

"It's complicated. At first I thought he was only after me because of Ciri... the child who was mine and Yennefer's ward..." he trailed off and his face grew shocked suddenly.  _I can remember Ciri. How can I remember her?_

"Geralt? Are you okay?" Solona reached out a shaky hand and gripped his shoulder, squeezing softly.

He shook his head and focused on her again. "I'm fine... I just had a strange memory, " he mumbled.

He continued, "I think he wants  _me_ as his heir now. Since Ciri died there have been no women with Elder Blood for him to force into becoming his bride. As his only living son, I'm his last resort. But if he can't convince me to join him he will try to kill me."

He sat quietly for a moment, lost in his odd memory. He said abruptly, "They used to think Ciri was the White Queen, you know? That Nilfgaardian bastard emperor Emhyr var Emreis thought that, anyway. He called himself the 'white flame dancing on the graves of his enemies' as if  _he_  were the answer to the prophecy." He laughed derisively at the thought. "He was her  _father_ and still wanted her for his bride." His face screwed up with anger. "I  _helped_  that bastard keep the woman he loved and that was how he repaid me."

Solona asked gently, "What does this Emhyr have to do with your … the Elven king?"

Geralt sighed, "Nothing, except they were both fanatics about the prophecy and believed she was the one who would fulfill it. A scion of Lara Dorren … supposedly a descendant of hers would have a child that would rule half the world. And the child of that child would rule the whole world. It was proved that Ciri was one of Lara's descendants and so that was why they wanted her. All of them. Mostly kings or emperors. If they didn't want to marry her, they wanted her dead."

He paused a moment before saying, "But  _you_ are the one they really wanted all along."

"That was why Henselt wanted me, wasn't it?" she asked.

He nodded and said, "It's really a wonder that he even let you go. You must be a descendant of Lara Dorren somehow, though I can't imagine how..."

"Not necessarily," they heard Triss say from behind them. They both turned to look at her. "The prophecy doesn't only affect our world, so it doesn't only apply to our world. From what Solona has told me, the Elves in her world have remained largely segregated from humans. One of their factions especially so, and they've managed to retain the old magic from before the Conjunction. It's more likely the genes Lara Dorren carried were also carried down in a different line altogether. The Elven Sages probably split the line between the three worlds hoping to try to maintain its integrity in at least one of them. Solona's father was a pure-blooded Elven sorcerer. That's where she inherited her gift." With a tinge of sarcasm, she said, "I doubt any of the  _kings and emperors_  accounted for that possibility."

Solona nodded, "And my mother was from a noble human family that traced its lineage back for generations. My genes are about as evenly split as you can get."

Solona met Geralt's gaze and held it for a moment. Then her brows drew together and she turned to Triss and asked, "But do these  _kings_  and such even know about the other half of the prophecy? The dryads knew about it. You would think an Elven king would know about it considering its source was an Elven seeress."

"You mean the part about Witcher blood being the key?" Geralt asked. "I only know about that from Flemeth's grimoire. But it isn't surprising that pieces of it would have been obscured from the general public... especially knowing who's controlled it all along. No doubt the pieces everyone knows about were made public to draw out the imposters."

"You're right," Solona said. "Flemeth probably made a point to control who knew certain details to protect  _you_. Especially from your father." She let out a soft snort. She wasn't the least bit surprised to discover yet another aspect of the situation that Flemeth had been manipulating all along.

She said, "Speaking of the prophecy, there was something else... after I saw that vision, I went to the temple where we're supposed to perform the final ritual. When I was there I heard something."

She spoke the words she'd heard echoing inside the temple, " _The world will be reborn of Hen Ichaer, of a planted seed, a seed that will not sprout but will burst into flames_."

He sat thoughtful a moment before saying, "Those words are part of the prophecy. The first phrase is the part that everyone knows.  _Hen Ichaer_  means Elven Blood. The planted seed could refer to the child... our child. I don't know about the rest of it. Did your dream show you anything else?"

She shook her head and sat looking up at him for a long moment. She looked exhausted. Her skin was sickly pale and glistened with sweat, and her eyes were rimmed with red. He hated seeing her like this. He reached out to lightly caress her bare shoulder. When his hand touched her skin she cringed back from him.

"Ow! Don't … please don't touch me, Geralt," she said with a wince.

He pulled back sharply as though she had slapped him. When she saw his reaction she said gently, "I'm just a little sensitive... it's not you. Everything  _hurts._  Even the feel of this on my skin hurts a little." She plucked at the soft linen shift in demonstration.

For some reason he was unable to control his response to her remark. In a rough, suggestive tone, he said, "You could take it off..."

His small smile turned to disappointment when he heard Triss' voice, low and steady and very stern, saying only, "Geralt, don't you dare."

He turned to glare at his friend. After a moment he felt a soft touch on his arm.

Solona said, "It's okay, I'm fine. We need to start stage two now anyway if we're going to stay on schedule."

He nodded and began to turn away, but she grabbed his hand suddenly. "Geralt, wait..." He turned back to her, a look of inquiry on his face.

"Kiss me before you go?"

He gave her a soft smile and obliged, bending carefully to press his lips against hers. He felt her hands reach up and her fingers entwine in the hair at the back of his head as she deepened the kiss. He forced himself to break away after a few seconds. If he kept going he knew he would lose control. He already felt his palms itching with the need to touch her.

He reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, then left the room silently.

* * *

Geralt continued clearing the lower passageways to stay nearby. Hearing her tortured cries didn't get easier, but every time she grew quiet and was resting he would start to feel the same sense of calm at a certain point, as though she was near him, whispering comforting words in his ear. He got very little time with her after the first time she had awakened. She was so exhausted between stages that she remained unconscious for most of it, only waking up briefly enough for Triss to confirm she was still doing fine and to tell the sorceress emphatically that she was ready to continue on to the next stage.

The evening of the second day he had barely slept, alternately sitting by her side while she was resting, or continuing his work clearing the passageways of the rubble. After much urging, Triss and Vesemir finally convinced him to get some rest.

The room he considered his own contained little more than a bed with straw ticking, a low cabinet with a wash basin, a chest, and several pegs on the walls from which he could hang his gear. He'd started a fire in the fireplace to fend off the chill and lay watching it burn for a time before finally dozing off into a fitful sleep.

* * *

_Before they could pull her to them with their wills again she went to him. She found him sleeping in a sparse room on the second floor and hovered over him for a moment, watching his restless slumber in the firelight. When she pushed her will out to embrace him like she had previously, he seemed to open up to her, and she found herself drawn in to his dream._

_They faced each other across a large, steaming pool within a torchlit room. They were each immersed in the water, seated on stone benches on opposite sides from each other. He was watching her like he had that first night, months earlier, when she had awakened in the bath with him. His hair was unfastened from its usual half ponytail and was slicked back from his face, wet from the water, a couple stray strands hung down at the sides of his face. She felt the subtle weight of her own hair and reached a hand up to find that it extended in soft, damp waves down past her shoulders, ghostly tendrils of it trailing out into the water around her. She had a body here, she realized. She held one hand up before her eyes, then trailed her fingers through the warm water. She seemed to be able to affect this environment as though she were solid as well._

_She heard a soft swish of movement in the water and looked up to see him walking towards her. She met his eyes and understood perfectly the desire that burned in them. Her eyes drifted lower, to lips that were silently speaking her name; over his muscular upper body, glistening with moisture; further down to where she could see small beads of water clinging to the fine dark hairs that trailed from his navel down into the pool. She could see the signs of his arousal stirring just below the surface and felt a small pulse between her legs in response. She stood and went to him. This was a dream, she knew. They could be together here without worry._

_They met in the center of the pool, stopping to stand a mere breath away from each other, both hesitating to touch the other for fear that it would destroy their delicate dream. Geralt gave in finally, lifting one hand from the water and tracing wet fingertips softly down her cheek. When she remained solid beneath his touch he groaned quietly with need. He cupped her face in both hands and tilted his head down to kiss her, gently at first, his tongue softly probing between her lips. She slid her hands up his chest, over his scars and through the light dusting of hair that covered his pectorals. She slipped her fingers through the hair at his temples and pulled him into a deeper kiss, their tongues drifting together in a desperate dance._

_His hands left her face as the they broke away from the kiss and he nuzzled softly at the side of her neck. His hands trailed delicately across her skin, skimming his fingertips down, over the sides of her breasts, his thumbs lingering around the sensitive buds at their tips for several seconds until he heard her moan of pleasure before moving his hands lower again. He rested one hand on her hip while the other slipped between her thighs, parting her soft folds gently and stroking her, finding her slick with desire. She she let out a quiet, breathless moan into his ear._

_He wrapped both arms around her torso and lifted her up, striding through the water to the side of the pool where he seated her on the edge, kneeling before her. She rested one hand on his cheek and parted her legs for him. Their eyes met briefly in a look charged with lust before his head tilted down between her thighs and his tongue found her center. Her fingers entwined in the wet tendrils of his hair and her head tilted back in ecstasy. He tasted her eagerly, his tongue dancing over her moist, delicate flesh and eliciting more breathless moans from her. He slipped his tongue deep into her, tasting every bit of her, his own moan of desire emerging unbidden from his chest. After several gasping moments the working of his expert mouth brought her to climax and she called out in ecstasy and leaned back on both hands, quivering and breathless._

_He stood up before her and she pulled him to her, wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling his head down into a deep, hungry kiss, tasting the tangy remnants of her own juices on his tongue. She felt his hard, throbbing length pressing against her and took him in her hand, stroking him softly. She shifted her hips towards him and placed his pulsing tip at her core. He answered her urging and buried himself in her with a soft grunt. He buried his face in her neck and stood unmoving for a second, holding her in his arms and enjoying the hot grip of her flesh around his own. He felt the soft squeeze of her muscles around him and groaned in ecstasy, beginning to move inside her slowly at first and then more insistently. He pressed her back against the damp stone and bent over her, sucking gently at the tip of one breast, and then the other, continuing to move his hips against hers in a fast, urgent rhythm. She clutched his hips tightly between her thighs and arched her back as she felt the waves of orgasm come over her again. His hips bucked against her as his own climax overtook him and they both cried out harshly, their cries echoing off the stone walls that surrounded them._

* * *

Vesemir sat in the lab reading by dim lantern light while keeping watch over Solona as she slept. Triss lay resting on a cot nearby. He heard a soft moan come from Solona's sleeping form and stopped reading, alert to any potential danger from her latest stage of the trial. She moaned again more loudly and he saw a light sheen of sweat forming on her skin.

"Triss!" he called sharply. The sorceress was up like a shot, walking briskly over to the table to see what was amiss. "Something's wrong," he said.

Triss bent over her patient, watching for a moment. Solona's breathing had quickened and she continued to moan softly, her flushed body quivering and writhing gently against the leather restraints.

"No..." Triss said quietly, "I don't  _think_ this is a bad thing."

She looked up at him intently, "Vesemir, do me a favor and go make sure Geralt is sleeping alright, will you? I'm worried he'll make himself ill... he hasn't so much as meditated since we began her trial."

Vesemir nodded and left the room, looking back once with surprise when he heard Solona cry out.  _That didn't sound like she was in pain. It sounded like..._ When it dawned on him he let out a small laugh. He supposed it was a damn sight better than the pain she'd gone through so far. If only other Witchers could have been so lucky.

Triss could do no more than watch, but began to feel like a voyeur after a few moments of witnessing what were clearly spasms of orgasm coursing through the other woman as her back arched and she writhed softly against the restraints.

When Vesemir reached Geralt's room he started to knock on the door and stopped abruptly when he heard a harsh cry come from inside. "Wolf!" he called out, "Is everything okay, Wolf?" He he rapped his knuckles against the door heavily then called out again. After a moment he heard Geralt's rough voice answer, "Come in, Vesemir."

The older man opened the door cautiously. When he stepped through he saw Geralt seated on the edge of the bed clad only in his breeches, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, sweating and breathing heavily.

"Bad dream?" Vesemir asked.

Geralt cleared his throat and glanced down at his lap.

"Not exactly..." he looked back up at the other man with a sheepish half-smile.

Vesemir's brow creased and he looked back in the direction of the lab. "Huh... you were asleep just now, though?"

Geralt nodded in response. "I was dreaming about... her... we were together." He cleared his throat again, flushing at the memory. It felt  _so_   _real_. The feel of her touch was still on his skin, her taste still on his tongue. He shook his head to try to clear it, then he noticed Vesemir's worried look and stood up quickly.

"Is she okay?" he asked insistently.

Vesemir looked back at him and nodded. "Oh she's just fine, I'm sure. You should come down in case she wakes up soon."

Geralt nodded. "Just give me a few minutes." Vesemir closed the door quietly and departed.

Geralt found a pair of clean trousers, which he changed into, then donned boots and a shirt. When he entered the lab he saw Solona sitting up at the edge of the table sipping delicately from a glass of water. She was flushed and the heady aroma of  _her_ reached his nose and his heartbeat sped up slightly.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, stepping close to her. She turned to him and smiled alluringly, "I'm better than alright."

He looked towards Triss in inquiry. His friend looked back with a shrug. "You'll have to ask her for the details... it seems she's been having little out-of-body jaunts in between each stage - not just dreams. It sounds like you might already know where she just was." He thought he saw a little twinkle of amusement in Triss' eyes before she turned back to what she was doing.

He shook his head slightly in disbelief. "Are you telling me it's been you all along? That it was you just now... in my dream?"

"Who did you think you were dreaming about?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well...  _you._  But the dream felt as real as if we were actually..." He let out a deep sigh and whispered, "It was amazing, whatever it was. Usually that particular dream ends with us both drowning... not...  _that._ " He cleared his throat and reached up a hand to caress her, stopping short just shy of touching her, his fingertips hovering a hair's breadth from the skin of her cheek.

She set her glass down and nodded, reaching up with both hands and grasping his larger one in between her own and laying a gentle kiss against his scarred knuckles.

"Remember yesterday when I said the Old Gods were sending me places..." He nodded and she continued. "Before they pull me to them I have a little bit of control over where my… essence... goes. This time you weren't awake when I went to you, and somehow I ended up inside your dream with you. That was definitely  _not_  what I was expecting but it was a welcome distraction."

She gave him a small smile and continued, "Afterward they didn't pull me along to some new thing this time, but I could still feel them out there, could hear them. They said they were pleased that our bond seemed to be growing stronger, that I would be ready soon. They're very eager to finally be free of their prison and the danger of corruption."

"Have they shown you anything else since yesterday?" he asked.

She grew pensive and nodded, murmuring, "Yes... I've seen our son." She met his eyes, her own filled with emotion. "He's beautiful, Geralt. Like nothing I could have imagined." He squeezed her hand gently and bent to kiss her.

* * *

Geralt felt significantly more centered for the remainder of Solona's trial. The experience from the evening before had done much to allay his worries about how she was faring.

He broke through the last of the rubble in one corridor on the afternoon of the third day. Vesemir hadn't lied, for within the chamber he had accessed he found a steaming bath with a deep, clear pool in the center. He recognized it immediately as the pool from their dream.  _Some forgotten memory showing up in my dreams again, no doubt,_  he thought. The room itself had been largely preserved, being locked away from access for so long. He walked in and placed a torch in one of the rusted sconces hanging on the wall. Those would need to be replaced, he noted.

The structures within the room were all completely intact. He could see that the pool had been built in around the sides with stone bricks so that it resembled the Elven bath that he'd seen outside Flotsam. There were pillars at each of the corners as well, but no vegetation whatsoever growing inside the room, aside from some odd fungus on one wall that seemed to have a small leak above it. He noticed stone benches along the walls of the room, as well as in the water, along the sides of the pool, and stone steps leading down into the water.

He walked to the edge of the pool and squatted down, trailing his fingers through the water. The water was pleasantly hot and he briefly considered stripping his clothing off and sinking into it for a soak. It would be a nice reward for the work he'd put in to uncovering the room. Instead he walked around the perimeter of the room, ripping rusty sconces from the walls. The floors would need to be washed, too, and there was a small alcove where he assumed they used to keep bath sheets where there was only a mass of mildewed fabric now. He still had more work to do before he could bring her here.

Later that evening he was busy scrubbing the remnants of fungus from the walls when he heard soft footsteps enter the room behind him.

Triss spoke in a soft, reverent voice, "Geralt, this is amazing! I had no idea this was down here. Did the Witchers actually build this? It's almost as nice as that Elven bath... do you remember?"

"Mhhm," he nodded his head and dropped the brush back into the pail by his feet. "When I'm finished hopefully it will be nicer." He looked around the room to survey the work he'd done so far and his eyes finally landed on his friend.

"You're doing this for her, aren't you?" Triss asked quietly, meeting his gaze.

He grabbed the brush from the bucket and turned back to the wall to begin scrubbing again. He shrugged and said simply, "Everything I do is for her now."

Triss watched him silently for a moment and then wandered around the dimly lit room. His work was beginning to show. The floors had been cleaned and the white stones glowed in the torchlight. He'd begun hanging new sconces as well.

She pulled off her boots and rolled up her trousers, then sat on the edge of the pool, dangling her feet into the water with a soft sigh. It was pleasantly hot and made her skin tingle. Her mind wandered to that day in the Elven bath she and Geralt had found outside Flotsam... the place where the Roses of Remembrance grew. She normally tried to avoid thinking about that day since things had ended between them, but it still popped into her head unbidden on occasion. She realized now that the memory itself had become just another pleasant piece of her past and was no longer associated with the bitterness or loss she used to feel over their parting.

She watched Geralt's back, as she pondered their situation, his sweat-soaked tunic clinging to his strong shoulders working at the stones with his brush. Had it been her discovery of a connection with Eskel that had made those feelings finally recede? Or her discovery of a connection with the woman that Geralt loved? She remembered her friendship with Yennefer. They had been close, but that hadn't stopped Triss from seducing her friend's lover... she had wanted him _so much_  back then, it had been nearly unbearable. She thought Yennefer probably knew about their little tryst. It had happened after a particularly nasty fight between Yen and Geralt, and he had come to her as a friend seeking solace. She still felt guilty about taking advantage of him then.  _I was such a whore back then. What the hell was I thinking?_

But she didn't have any regrets about their relationship from the past few years, after he came back from the dead. She remembered that  _she'd_  come back from the dead once. He'd thought her dead after the Battle at Sodden Hill... they'd even erected a monument with her name on it. But he hadn't had nearly the same reaction as she had to his resurrection. Yennefer had still been alive then... and there was Ciri, too. Too many other women between them for it to matter enough, she supposed.

When they'd finally begun a relationship she'd felt a little guilty that he didn't remember their earlier encounter, but was glad of it, nonetheless. She was equally glad that she'd had the strength to finally end things before Solona had come into the picture. And she was infinitely glad that Eskel had come along and given her the impetus to do so.

Eskel had been a surprise, to say the least. She'd only ever thought of him as Geralt's brother. He'd always been on the periphery of their drama - never really involved in either of their lives beyond his occasional presence. She had run into Eskel randomly on the streets of Vizima on a day when she was feeling particularly disheartened about Geralt's disinterest in something she cared greatly about - namely the disposition of Temeria's throne and the child who was the heir to it. She just figured he should care more considering he had saved the girl's life. At the time she believed it was really just  _her_  he didn't care about. In retrospect she thought some part of him must have known what was to come, so she forgave him.

That day in Vizima, Eskel had suddenly appeared in the middle of the bazaar and the look of utter rapture he had given her made her forget about all of her worries so completely it was uncanny. They'd spent the afternoon together and she'd invited him to spend the night but he had refused. He'd told her with grave certainty in his deep voice, "I want you, Triss. More than  _anything_. But I won't let you come between Wolf and me, no matter how beautiful you are, or how much you both regret being together."

Weeks later when he had finally confessed that he had always loved her she realized what a fool she had been. She could have had this man all along if she hadn't been so blind. This man who was every bit the scarred hero that she had seen in Geralt. Even if he wasn't quite so infamous. But she realized she liked the idea that he wasn't so infamous... that meant she'd get more of him to herself. And she had discovered she could be very selfish when it came to love. Not to mention he had been a fantastic lover... but she had expected no less.

"Triss."

She jerked slightly, coming out of her reverie at the sound of her name. She looked up to see Geralt crouching across the pool and looking at her with a bemused smile.

"Copper for your thoughts?" he asked glancing at her hand, which she realized was currently cupping her breast. She dropped it abruptly, and cleared her throat.

"Nothing... er... nothing."

He grinned at her flustered blush.

"Eskel?" he asked. She nodded and lifted her feet out of the water, wiggling her bare toes in the cooler air of the room.

His look grew more serious. "He's very lucky. As are you. I wanted to tell you that it makes me happy you two found each other."

"Thank you, Geralt. I'm happy we did, too." She smiled faintly at him.

He sat and pulled off his boots and rolled his trousers up to his knees, then plunged his own feet into the warm water.

"Triss..." he began, his brows creased in a way that told her he had something important to tell her.

"What is it, Geralt?"

"I think my memories are returning."


	17. The Trial of Changes

The next day the trial was over. Triss found Geralt in the bath bolting new sconces to the walls. The room had been cleaned and decorated as lavishly as he could manage with the meager supplies available in the castle. There were torches lit around the room and several large candelabras placed in the corners that blazed with light. He'd placed pots planted with glowing mushrooms around the sides of the pool near the pillars to add more light. Triss had thoughtfully conjured vines of fragrant jasmine that entwined around each of the columns, and the overall effect was far more than he had expected to achieve in such a short time.

"She's asleep," Triss said quietly from the doorway. "When she wakes up you can take her up to her room. Or here would be even better... the warm water will help ease the pain."

He nodded and continued his work. He bolted the final sconce to the wall and placed the torch in it, then turned to survey the room. Deciding it was finally ready he walked to the lab.

Solona was sitting up, her head bowed and her shoulders sagging. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

She didn't move when he went to stand before her, only saying in a hitching whisper to the floor, "I hurt, Geralt. Every cell in my body  _hurts_. Now I understand why there are so few Witchers."

"The pain will pass before you know it," he said quietly. "The tricky part will be getting used to the changes to your body." In a somewhat more relieved tone, he said, "The worst is over, at least."

She took a deep, ragged breath and coughed softly. "Ugh, I reek. I would give anything for a bath right now."

She made a feeble attempt to stand and he caught her, lifting her in his arms just as her legs gave out beneath her. He held her as delicately as though she were made of glass. She rested her head on his chest and clung tightly to him with her hands.

"Well I have just the thing, then," he whispered in her ear as he began walking out of the room with her.

Her senses seemed to be at war with each other as he carried her down the corridor. There were the sounds of Triss working in the lab, clinking glass and pouring liquids; the acrid smells of whatever solutions Triss was working with, on top of the scent of Geralt's leathery musk, and her own more pungent sickly odor; and the constant flashing of lights beyond her closed eyelids. All of it combined in a chaotic cacophony of sensory input that made her feel like she was being drawn in every different direction. She clung desperately to him, feeling as though if she didn't she might fly into a million pieces. The only sense that wasn't causing her complete torture at the moment was her sense of touch. With the feel of his arms holding her she felt grounded again for the first time in days.

So she clung to him and made an effort to block out everything else but the feel of  _his_  arms holding her and  _his_  familiar smell and the sound of  _his_  slow, even heartbeat beneath her ear where it rested against his chest. Finally the other sensations began to recede and she sighed deeply at the relief, and a new scent abruptly reached her nose.

"Mmm... something smells pretty. Not that  _anything_  wouldn't smell prettier than I do right now. I'm surprised you can stand to be near me." She let out a soft chuckle that made him smile. At least she seemed to be in good spirits in spite of everything, he thought.

The light beyond her closed eyelids brightened and she felt him stop walking and hesitate for a second.

"Do you think you can stand on your own?" he asked gently.

"Maybe?" she answered. He set her down just inside the room and noticed she still had her eyes screwed tightly shut. She stood for a second before wavering and he caught her again before she fell.

"Or maybe not," she said with a wry laugh.

He carried her to a bench near the wall by the door and set her gently on it. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it on the bench, followed by his boots and leather trousers, leaving only the light, knee-length cloth breeches he wore beneath them. The sound of him disrobing prompted her to tilt her head up and open one eye a crack.

Everything was still out of focus. It made her feel like she was extremely drunk without the pleasant euphoria that usually accompanied that sensation. She blinked several times until he finally came into focus but he still had an odd, flashing halo around him.

"Hmmm... you do give new meaning to the phrase 'a sight for sore eyes'," she said appreciatively and opened her eyes wider, trying to take in his muscular, half-naked form through the haze.

He understood instantly why she had kept her eyes closed. Her eyes were the same shade of gold they had been, but her pupils were now vertical slits that seemed to expand and contract of their own volition.

He smiled down at her. "You'll learn to control your eyes to let in the right amount of light."

"My eyes?" she asked, not understanding at first, then the realization struck and she raised one hand up gingerly to her face. "Are my eyes... like yours now? Is that why they hurt so much and the whole world's all... woobly?"

He nodded. "They're very pretty eyes," he said softly.

She met his gaze with a smile, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again her pupils seemed to have stabilized into narrow slits to manage the brighter illumination of the room around her. They widened abruptly when she finally took in the sights.

She let out a soft gasp. "Oh my! This is beautiful! What did you do? Conjure this out of our dream the other night?"

He laughed softly and shook his head. "No... this was always here. I think my dream was part memory. I uncovered the real thing sometime yesterday and spent the rest of the time cleaning and repairing it. It's been decades since I saw it last, but it was nowhere near this nice back then."

She plucked impatiently at her shift and he bent down to help her disrobe, then scooped her back up into his arms and carried her down the low, wide steps into the water. He sighed at the feel of her soft, naked skin resting against his own but managed to control the urge to touch her more than absolutely necessary.

She let out a soft groan of pleasure when he set her down on one of the benches, the hot water coming up to just cover her bare breasts. She leaned her head back against the edge of the pool and sighed deeply.

"This feels so amazing. Thank you." She tilted her head back up and opened her eyes to see him sitting quietly on the bench opposite hers. Her brow twitched slightly at the sight of him still in his breeches sitting in the water. But rather than comment on his attire, she asked, "Is there soap?"

He nodded and stood up, wading back over to her bench where he reached behind her to a small basket that contained a soft cloth and a bar of the soap she liked. He held them up for her to see.

She smiled back at him and said, "You've thought of everything haven't you?"

He cleared his throat softly, "So... do you need help with this, too?" His expression was both hopeful and wary. He was willing to do anything for her but was still hesitant to test their new boundaries.

She studied him intently for a second then turned her back to him. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, "Just get my back first. I think I can handle the rest."

He obliged, lathering up the cloth with the soap and applying it to her bare back, rubbing slowly and gently.

"You are the very picture of restraint, Geralt," she commented softly. "If our roles were reversed I'm not sure I'd be able to control myself."

His light scrubbing slowed and he shrugged, then realized she couldn't see him and cleared his throat, saying, "I suppose I've gained some perspective these past few days. That doesn't make it easier, really." He cleared his throat again. "But it's made me realize there are more important things to focus on. Lay back..."

He supported her shoulders while she dipped her head back in the water. Her hair floated out around her head in a wispy white halo. Their eyes met for a second and she smiled up at him. He was oddly surprised at the feel of comfort it gave him to just be with her again, and even more surprised that he felt more content than aroused, even after the sight of her pert breasts rising above the water as she lay back for him. He guessed it was probably just relief that her trial was finally over and she had made it through. She sat back up and he lathered up her hair with the soap, gently massaging her scalp, as well as her neck and shoulders, amidst soft groans of pleasure from her.

"Solona..." he said quietly after she'd sat up again from rinsing her hair and had taken over washing herself. She turned her head to face him, her brows raised in inquiry. He seemed pensive for some reason and she sensed a kind of distracted introspection that was unusual for him.

"Ever since the other night... the night before your trial began... my memories have been returning."

She paused for a second and asked, "That's a good thing, right?"

He gave her a small, rueful smile. "Yes, it is... but not all the memories are good. The two women who mattered the most to me died trying to save me. I didn't understand why at the time... it would have destroyed me if I had remembered them."

She reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "But you remember now..."

He swallowed hard and she could see the pain plainly evident on his face. "Yes... and they  _knew_  what they were doing. They gave everything for me... for  _us_. And they never even knew you."

He spoke again, his words coming out rough and slow as he stared at the rippling water before him. "You are so much like her... like them both. Triss already saw it but didn't mention it to me until yesterday when I told her. She thinks it isn't an accident that I'm regaining my memories now. She believes it was inevitable once you showed up and..." he hesitated briefly and glanced at her before continuing, "once my feelings for you finally overshadowed my feelings for Ciri and Yen. Flemeth got to them somehow, and I'm almost positive she's the reason for my amnesia, too."

 _His feelings for me?_  she thought, and remembered her previous conversation with Triss. She winced internally at the memory of what the other woman had said about how Geralt felt. She had tried to tell herself that all they had been doing since... well since they  _met_ , had been fooling around; that they were just two people caught up in a crazy situation and finding in each other a nice distraction from the gravity of their circumstances. But there was a small voice in her that told her she knew better than that. She knew it from the smallest moments when he had let his guard down with her, or she with him. She could admit that she cared for him deeply, but she had let herself become too close to him, she thought. It's one thing to be a good friend to someone, and something entirely different when you let them in to such a degree that you begin to redefine each other entirely based on a kind of mutual need. Something in his current mood told her, however, that this was a time for her to let him in.  _As a good friend should,_  she told herself.

"Did Flemeth mention something in the grimoire about your memory? Is that how you know?" Solona asked, knowing that many secrets had been revealed among the pages of the book, including the fact that Flemeth was actually Geralt's mother.

He shook his head. "She mentioned having to make certain regrettable decisions to ensure our paths would cross. She explains what a few of those decisions were - the ones concerning you, but not the ones concerning me. But I've had flashes of memory of the things that happened the day I died... the day  _they_ died... for awhile - since before we met. I thought it meant my memories were finally returning, but until now I never got more than the few scraps that would come to me in dreams. But when we were talking the other day, the missing pieces started filling in. And I think remembering that day was the key to remembering everything that came before it."

He began recounting the memory of that fateful day while Solona listened.

* * *

_His body lay in the cold mud in the middle of the battle-strewn streets of Rivia, the sounds of the riot whirled in the air around him. His torso was pierced through from the peasant's pitchfork and his life's blood flowed from him. He heard Yennefer's panic-stricken voice calling out to him, "Don't you fucking die on me, Geralt! Don't do it! I will never forgive you if you do!" He felt her hands ripping open his leather armor and his shirt to reach the wounds and heard her incantation as she attempted to heal him._

_He could feel the searing depth of his wounds. She wouldn't be able to heal him - not as bad as they were - and he feared she would kill herself trying. He struggled to speak, to tell her to leave him, to save herself, but his throat wouldn't work._

_Yennefer's frantic casting continued and he struggled to remain conscious but felt himself fading. He could hear her soft sobs in between her incantation and thought he heard her say, "The prophecy... you can't die... you have to live for_ her  _damn you!" He watched, helpless, as a blade pierced her body and she slumped over him, convulsed violently, then grew still. He struggled to see who had wielded the blade but there was only chaos continuing to rampage around them. He tried to reach out to her, to call for her, but his body wasn't responding to his commands. His mind reeled at what was happening and he only managed to choke out a small sob._

_A lovely, concerned face framed by ashen hair appeared in his field of vision and Ciri's familiar voice spoke calmly and serenely in his ear, "I can't let you die, Geralt. Aen Henbeanna has a task for you." The three of them were engulfed in a bright mist and he felt himself lifted and floating as though on water. He felt the pain in his body begin to recede just before the world faded away._

_When he regained consciousness he was in another place, on the misty shore of a lake. It was eerily serene, and utterly quiet except for the soft rattling sounds of small stones being pushed about in the water that lapped along the shore. He sat up slowly and shook his head. He was barefoot and dressed only in his trousers. There were two still forms lying on the ground a ways away, one facing the other, arms wrapped around it in a gentle embrace. The water of the lake lapped steadily at two pairs of pale, bare feet._

_A buzz of black dread started at the base of his skull as he began to crawl towards them across the wet, rocky shore. When he reached them, the dread turned into a thunderous howl inside his mind, blocking out everything but the utter despair at the sight of the lifeless bodies of the woman he loved and the girl he had thought of as a daughter. He managed to draw a ragged breath finally and let it out again in an anguished cry._

" _No... Yen..." he sobbed as he gathered her into his arms and buried his face in her dark hair, inhaling deeply her familiar scent of lilac and gooseberries. He turned his head to where the other figure lay against the one he held and reached out to grip Ciri's cold hand within his own. Her blank eyes stared at the sky._

_He sat rocking Yennefer's body in his arms, his chest racked with sobs. "Why?" He repeated the word over and over through his hitching cries and barely noticed the figure that had materialized behind him._

" _My child," he heard a dry, feminine voice speak behind him. In a gentle tone the voice said, "They gave themselves willingly for you so that you might live."_

_He shook his head sharply and asked again through his tears, "Why?"_

_She spoke tenderly when she answered. "Because you are meant for something greater, my sweet boy. They knew this. Yennefer knew you never truly belonged to her - to either of them. You belong to the White Queen. She who is beloved of kings, touched by dragons._ She _is your destiny. You were dying and they knew that couldn't be. Your death would plunge the worlds into an abyss they would not recover from. It would doom us all."_

_He didn't care. He was broken without them. He would rather be dead. The world meant nothing without the two of them in it. He continued holding Yennefer's still form in his arms and gently rocking her as he sobbed into her hair._

_There was a soft sigh from behind him and the voice said, "This is going to be harder than I anticipated." He felt a hand gently squeeze his shoulder and the world went dark again._

* * *

His voice was thick with emotion as he spoke. "The next time I woke up I was back in Kaer Morhen and they were gone, and the rest of my past along with them."

He shook his head and rubbed at the scar on his forehead. Solona saw the muscles of his jaw clench and unclench spasmodically. "Now that I can remember that day, I know it was Flemeth who took my memory from me, and I  _hate it_. I hate her. If I ever see her again I will kill her, even if she is my mother, and even if I understand why she did it. Sometimes I feel like we're just pawns in some game she's playing."

Solona finished washing and slid off the bench, holding her breath and submerging herself under the water to rinse off the soap suds. The pain was gradually receding from her body and she could feel her strength returning. She held her breath for several seconds and floated beneath the surface before tilting her head back and coming up again, water sluicing off her milky white skin. Geralt's eyes skimmed over her wet, naked form for a second and he let out a small sigh. He would give anything to be able to drown himself in her right now, but knew he couldn't. He would have to content himself with her company, but at least that was some comfort to him. She squirted a fountain of water from her mouth in Geralt's general direction, then slicked the water off her face before sitting next to him again.

She said, "Flemeth wasn't very forthcoming with details on what she stands to gain from this, so there's no telling with her. I just know she wants something out of it besides merely seeing the prophecy fulfilled, and whatever it is she wants, she needs  _us_  to help her accomplish it."

"Do you actually trust her?" he asked gruffly.

She sat thinking for a moment before she said, "I don't like her, but yes, I do trust her. She obviously has her own agenda, but her primary motivation is the prophecy. Whatever her ulterior motive is, she won't jeopardize fulfillment of the prophecy."

She could see that he was struggling with the feelings that had emerged with the recovery of his memories. She was no stranger to loss, herself. She reached out again and gripped his hand tightly in hers where it rested on the bench between them. Their destinies were being fulfilled at the expense of four of the people that meant the most to them in their lives. It had been a betrayal of the worst kind, even though they both understood that the stakes were so high that some sacrifices were necessary. It still didn't make it any easier to deal with the loss.

"We still have each other," she offered softly.

His voice was low and tight with the effort of controlling his grief when he answered. "We do have each other." He reached out to her then, a surge of small waves erupting in the water as he pulled her onto his lap and into a tight embrace. The sudden gesture surprised her at first, but she returned his embrace. She felt him shudder softly when she wrapped her arms around his neck and began stroking his hair, then he buried his face in her shoulder and quietly wept, the wetness of his tears mingling with the water trickling down over her skin.

* * *

Triss departed the next day after leaving detailed instructions on how Solona should take the mutagens. The Witcher mutations, called the Trial of Changes, would normally occur over the course of a few years while a young Witcher initiate was still growing, but they didn't have time for that so were forced to improvise. Triss had spent the previous night in the lab preparing the mutagenic potions out of the ingredients that were in stock, and had spent the morning instructing Solona on the spells required to administer them properly.

Solona looked concerned when Triss first described the spell she would need to cast.

"That sounds like blood magic..." she said, dubiously.

Triss looked perplexed. "Well... I guess you could call it that since it requires your blood to work. But this is the way it needs to be done."

Solona was uncertain for a moment, and sat thinking. Blood magic was something she'd only hesitated to attempt before because of the stigma associated with it, which she admitted she didn't really believe to begin with. She was nowhere near the Chantry or any Templars now, and doing magic in this world didn't require accessing the Fade and exposing herself to potential demonic influences. She finally realized she was still a victim of ignorance and nodded resolutely.

"Okay, show me," she said.

The spell itself seemed completely benign, it turned out. Before taking each potion, she would need to add a drop of her own blood to it, and then recite a very specific incantation for each one and infuse it with a small bit of magic. She was to take only one potion each week to allow her body time to acclimate to the changes that would occur. Normally Witcher initiates would have a few months to adjust, but she didn't have time for that if they wished to accomplish their goal by Midsummer, and they had no choice about the timeline. Triss theorized that with Solona using her own magic to quicken the potions, it was possible their effects would be more potent and easier for her to adjust to, and urged Solona to take notes of the entire process.

Triss had arranged all the potions in a small crate, in the order they were to be taken. Each small glass bottle was corked and sealed with red wax, and was wrapped in a slip of paper upon which its incantation was written. The instructions were tied with a piece of string to the side of each bottle. There were still two gaps in the arrangement, with two slips of paper that didn't have bottles to accompany them; those slips of paper included the recipes for the potions in addition to the incantations for the two mutagens they had yet to acquire. There were ten potions altogether that Solona would need to take. The two missing mutagens were to be at week five and week ten, so they still had time in which to hunt for them.

When Triss left, she hugged them each fiercely, even squatting down to let Lusa give her a sloppy kiss goodbye. When she said goodbye to Solona she whispered in her ear, "Don't forget what I told you. You can find happiness together - I'm sure of it." Then she stepped through her portal back to Vizima.

* * *

"Is there any reason we shouldn't go hunt for the last two mutagens  _now_?" Solona asked later when they were cleaning up after dinner.

Geralt shook his head. "No, there isn't," he said, handing her the small stack of plates that had just completed the Lusa pre-wash for her to dunk in the basin of soapy dishwater.

"In fact we should go before winter sets in," he said. "As soon as you're feeling up to it, we'll head out. In the meantime I think it's due time we scheduled daily training yard practice to make sure you're comfortable with your changes."

She shot a playful look over her shoulder to where he stood with a dish towel drying the clean dishes.

"You think I need  _practice_ , do you?" She flicked wet fingers at his face causing him to blink as the small droplets struck his skin.

"Yes, I think you need practice." He grinned back at her and twisted the towel into a rope between his hands then flicked it sharply at her backside. Her eyes flashed dangerously as her hand whipped around and caught it in a blink before it made contact. Suddenly he found himself disarmed and being assaulted with his own weapon.

"Ah hah!" she exclaimed, delighted that she'd gotten the upper hand on him. "Maybe you're the one who needs some practice," she taunted.

She brandished her weapon at him menacingly and he grabbed the closest thing he could find to defend himself. He danced backwards and sideways, easily parrying each flick of the dishtowel with a long-handled iron ladle gripped in his fist. He evened the score when the dishtowel flicked out and wrapped around the handle of his weapon and he was able to yank it out of her hands. She let out an indignant little yell as he grinned at her.

"Looks like you need to work on your form a bit," he chided.

She'd be damned if she would let him have the last word. She reached towards the corner of the room behind her and with a small force of will a broomstick hurtled into her hand. She gripped it in both hands and faced off with him, a determined set to her jaw. They circled around each other, on guard and searching out weaknesses. He saw an opening when she dropped her shoulder ever so slightly on one side and he lunged, but she brought the broom up quickly to block his attack, then ducked, sweeping the broom low and aiming for his shins. He leaped into the air, dodging her attack effortlessly, but had to swiftly raise his weapon to block the upswing as the broom arced up from the floor, aiming at his chin. The force of his parry pushed her back a step and he advanced. He had her on the defensive now, striking blow after blow which she was forced to block as she retreated. She felt quicker now, but her reflexes were still no match for his and his barrage of attacks was wearing her down quickly.

Her back hit the wall and she cried out in frustration as she realized he had her cornered, their weapons locked together.

He grinned at her in triumph. "Looks like I've got you at a disadvantage. Do you cede?"

He pressed closer, the handle of the ladle pushing hard against her broomstick. His greater strength and the weight of his body behind his weapon forced her to bend her arms, the broomstick now pressed against her chest and their faces mere inches from each other. She grunted at the effort to hold him off and met his gaze, defiant. When their eyes met, she saw the glint of lust in his and relaxed her grip on her weapon slightly, tilting her head up and parting her lips invitingly. He eased his grip on his own weapon and bent his head towards hers, his lips already tingling in anticipation.

He felt one of her legs twist around his and her hips rubbed softly against his, the contact tortuously arousing. He closed his eyes as his lips brushed hers.

The room suddenly tilted and his eyes flew open in alarm. An instant later he found himself with the cold stone floor at his back and Solona standing over him with the broom handle aimed at his throat. A smug smile played across her lovely features.

"Looks like  _you_  need to learn better self control," she smirked at him.

They heard the sound of clapping accompanied by hearty laughter coming from the doorway to the kitchen.

"She has you dead to rights, Wolf!" Vesemir called out.

Geralt glared at them both, but knew she had been right. He'd just been brutally reminded of how little self control he had when it came to her, and that would never do if they were going to spend the entire winter trapped in this castle together. She leaned the broom back in the corner and stretched out a hand to help him up. He averted his gaze from hers, still cursing at himself for showing such weakness that she hadn't also given in to. He felt a light squeeze on his forearm and heard her soft whisper, "It wasn't easy... if I didn't hate losing so much, Vesemir might have gotten a very different show." He met her eyes and saw them twinkle with suppressed laughter at the suggestion of his mentor witnessing them in the act yet again. He laughed softly and nodded at her before striding over to the wash basin to finish the dishes.

Vesemir still stood grinning in the doorway. "What a fantastic show! She has the makings of a true Witcher, Wolf. I'd like to put a sword in her hand and see what she can do with it."

"I like my staff just fine," she said in response. "I'm used to it, and it's every bit as deadly as one of your swords. Besides, I use it for more than just beating on things."

Vesemir nodded at her sagely. "Perhaps we could make some improvements to it... to make it more suitable for Witcher work. Do you mind if I take a look at it while you're here?"

"Not at all," she answered, not quite knowing what he meant by "more suitable for Witcher work" but curious nonetheless.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw an object flying at her through the air and reflexively reached out to catch the wet dish Geralt had just flung at her head.

"Hey!" she yelled, "You could've knocked me out with that!"

"Just testing," he said blithely, his shoulders shaking with mirth as he scrubbed another dish.

"Sore loser," she grumbled and grabbed the towel, resisting the urge to smack him with it.  _Better not start something again_ , she thought, knowing it could lead down paths they'd best try to avoid.

* * *

Early the next morning she took the first mutagen, following the instructions precisely. She noted that this was the one made from the Koshchey heart and felt a little surge of righteous glee when she swallowed it. There was a kind of primal satisfaction at the idea of consuming the heart of a beast  _she_  had killed, and for a moment she regretted that she hadn't been able to kill  _all_  the creatures she would be consuming over the next several weeks. It made her look forward even more to the upcoming hunt for the last two mutagens.

After she swallowed the potion she stood reading over Triss' notes again while Geralt and Vesemir stood by observing to make sure she didn't respond poorly to the potion. Triss had written a small note detailing the ultimate effect of each mutagen so she would know what kind of changes to expect. This one was meant to impart wisdom and was also a precursor to the subsequent mutagens, intended to deepen the effects from them. Triss had written in light script, " _Weird dreams?_ " next to the "wisdom" bit. Nothing seemed to be happening. She worried for a moment that the potion might not be working. She was looking into the empty bottle in consternation when she suddenly felt herself falling as though the floor had just opened up beneath her.

She found herself floating amidst the chaos with the Old Gods again, only this time there were four of them and they had the definite forms of sleeping dragons. One of them wore skin that undulated and changed, taking on exquisite and confoundingly infinite patterns; one was glowing red and blazed small snorts of fire as it slept; one was oddly bound in chains; and the fourth was so utterly still and quiet as to be nearly absent. There were three other shapes of dragons flying in a steady circle around a swirling vortex, as though to counterbalance the sucking pull of the vortex beneath them.

 _This is where it ends, Gwynrhena. This is where it begins_. She heard their voices echoing through her mind and watched, horror-stricken, as a rift opened and a multitude of robed humanoid figures burst in from another plane, disrupting the steady circling of the three active sentinels. She watched, helpless, as powerful magic put the three flying dragons to sleep and they grew still and unmoving where the spell had struck them.

There were deafening claps of thunder and chaotic bursts of lightning striking everywhere around her as the swirling vortex began to grow in power now that its counterbalance had been nullified. The invaders raged and she could sense they had not been expecting what they had ultimately found in this place. In the midst of the chaos their rage began to transform them into something horrifying and even more mindlessly dangerous.

Beside her, she felt one of the four slumbering behemoths awaken and call out in a mute roar that suppressed the dissonant thundering noise around her, driving everything into sudden, ringing silence. It gave her ears a brief reprieve from the chaotic noise around her, but his companions were not awakened. He attempted to drive out the invaders on his own, but was overcome as their raging power began to corrupt him.

She watched transfixed as his immense form mutated into something monstrous, but oh so familiar to her, just before he burst through the veil back into the world the invaders had entered from, a retinue of humanoid monsters trailing after him. The deafening roar of the chaos around her returned abruptly the second he departed.

The remaining six slumbering dragons remained as still as death as pandemonium continued to erupt around them. She felt the bedrock of the universe shaking and falling in on itself as the chaos whirled faster and faster, sucking everything into itself. A bone-shaking roar began to build from the center of the nexus and she reflexively ducked her head and watched as three distinct, immense orbs of pulsating light were drawn to the center and crashed together, merging into one bright, blinding radiance for a brief second before the momentum of their collision forced them back apart again to hover, barely touching and spinning in circles above the vast, churning nexus.

It grew suddenly very peaceful in the chaos. The roaring wind and thunder subsided. The three giant orbs seemed to be drifting serenely in a steady orbit above the roiling nexus, as though they were three dancers around a Midsummer tree, undulating softly as they wove their ribbons together.

Six dragons slept, for now, but three of them still spun in unstirring slumber around the nexus, their dreams keeping time with the orbs of the three worlds that spun beneath them.

* * *

When she opened her eyes she saw three concerned faces hovering above her, one of them with a distinctly more slobbery countenance than the other two. Geralt spoke first, his voice relieved and betraying his deeper emotions despite his even tone.

"Solona... can you hear me? Are you okay?"

She nodded and sat up, raising one hand to her temple. "I feel fine... just a headache... but the things I saw..." she shook her head softly, her loose white curls drifting idly around her face. Lusa lay down with his head in her lap, licking her hands softly. She looked down and indulgently scratched his ears.

She sat staring at Lusa's black, furry head for a moment, recalling everything she had seen. She wondered if the vision was directly related to her, or if it had more to do with the origin of the creature she had imbibed. Either way it had been a revelation. It was the first really concrete understanding she had of the dire need for her and Geralt to fulfill the prophecy.

"I saw the Conjunction. I saw the beginning of the Blights. I saw it all..." she said, still mesmerized. She looked up at Geralt and then at Vesemir. "What Triss told me was true... the Old Gods were what kept the worlds in balance. The magisters destroyed that balance when they knocked them out. There is still some semblance of stability, but it is fragile as long as they sleep."

Geralt nodded and said, "Well, best make sure we're ready then."

He stood from where he was crouching next to her and reached his strong hand out to her. She grasped it in her own and stood up, displacing the affectionate canine. Lusa stood up to obediently follow his master. She gave Geralt's hand a solid squeeze in gratitude. They turned and walked together up the corridor and out of the lab.

"So are you ready for some training?" he asked as they were walking.

"Definitely," she responded. "I need to work on my towel form." She elbowed him softly, eliciting a subtle grunt from him.

"I deserved that," he said and she laughed in response.


	18. The Kikimore

Geralt was an extremely unforgiving instructor, running her through her paces relentlessly for the next two days. He dragged her out of bed at dawn each day and tested her with every weapon in their arsenal, ignoring her objections that she was a mage and happy sticking with her staff as her weapon of choice. He insisted that she learn how to fight with everything, even if she only learned basic forms and styles, in order to better understand how her opponents thought.

"But we're hunting monsters, and only two monsters at that... how much variety in combat styles are we really going to have to deal with?" she had asked.

"The Red Wraiths are the demented spirits of dead soldiers. There's no telling what to expect from them, but they do use human fighting styles," he told her. "But it isn't them I'm thinking of. Our journey south will take us into some fairly politically unstable areas the closer we get to the borders of Nilfgaard. It's likely we'll encounter bandits and mercenaries on the road. Not to mention Henselt's warning that there were likely assassins hunting you. We need to be ready for anything."

She had her share of experience with bandits and the like, but with the new abilities she was acquiring she recognized the need for additional training.

So she gave up her staff for the time being, letting Vesemir borrow it to see if he could improve it for her, and spent the next few days sparring with Geralt with any other weapon she could get her hands on, including her own hands. She'd always had decent reflexes after the training Malcolm Hawke had given her and her cousins when they were younger, but occasionally she surprised even herself with what she was now capable of. But as impressed as she was with her own improved reactions, Geralt was still faster, stronger, and more skilled at everything.  _Everything except magic,_ she thought, growing increasingly frustrated at his insistence that she only practice her martial skills for now.

"Magic is too easy for you," he told her. "For you to truly be able to take advantage of your changes you need to learn the physical aspects of them. Trust me... when you switch back to casting spells you'll notice the difference and thank me for it."

"But don't Witchers use spells, too?" she asked. "When do you teach me those?"

He laughed, amused by her enthusiasm. She did have a refreshing lust for knowledge, which was a good thing and somehow balanced her occasionally troubling thirst for blood.

"Witcher signs are nothing compared to your spells. Just a little extra advantage when we're fighting... There is one sign that might be useful to you. We can work on that if you would like.  _After_  you can beat me in fight."

"I  _already_ beat you in a fight, in case you're forgetting," she said and smirked at him.

He scowled at her. "In a real fight... that was just a fun distraction, it doesn't count."

She nodded her head at him in mock agreement, "Uh huh... You go ahead and keep telling yourself that, but we  _both_  know I kicked your ass." She stabbed her finger at him three times in emphasis.

His scowl deepened and he emitted a resigned sigh. "Fine. I'll teach you the sign tomorrow."

* * *

The next morning she was rudely awakened when her covers were yanked off, exposing her bare skin to the cold morning air. She heard Geralt's deep voice telling her, "Get up, lazybones, we have hunting to do..." She heard him trail off then clear his throat and whisper a very colorful curse.

She turned sleepy eyes to face her tormentor, only to see his strong profile facing the window and studying the outside landscape with fierce intensity. She was still lying belly-down, stark naked as she preferred to sleep when she wasn't on the road. She could tell from the soft light seeping through the windows that dawn was breaking. There was a soft pounding behind her eyes.  _Too much White Gull last night,_ she thought, resolving to control her consumption better the next time.

She grumbled at him, "What torture is this? It's barely dawn and you're already hounding me. Not fair." She pulled a pillow over her head.

Geralt turned away from the window and gazed at her naked body glowing creamy white in the pre-dawn light. Her dragon-shaped birthmark looked nearly black in the dim light and seemed to beckon to him from above the soft, round flesh of one buttock. He groaned inwardly and shook his head, then sighed deeply in frustration. Was she  _trying_  to torment him? Finally, losing patience, with himself as well as her, he said, "Solona, get up, dammit. We have a monster to hunt today."

That got her moving. "Well, why didn't you say so!" she said, suddenly enthusiastically awake, her small  _(perfect)_  breasts bouncing softly as she got up and began donning her gear.

"I'll meet you downstairs," he said and abruptly left her room before he did things he would likely regret.

* * *

She descended to the main hall several moments later, fully bedecked in her battle leathers. Her outfit now included a thin leather strap tied around her forehead to keep her unruly hair from falling into her eyes until it grew long enough for her to tie back.

"Vesemir, do you have my staff?" she asked the old man who sat at the table nursing a steaming mug of tea. He nodded and made a gruff noise of assent, pointing to a weapon rack near the door.

He told her, "It is a fine piece of workmanship, but the material is far beyond my skills to work with. You say it's made from dragon bone?" She nodded and began to scarf down a quick breakfast of cold meat and bread.

"It's the lightest, strongest material I've ever seen," he said, clearly impressed, "and the enchantments on it would be impossible to duplicate, so I hesitate to attempt reworking the weapon myself. The design is quite innovative... forging a blade at the end of a staff makes it a very versatile weapon. It may not be a weapon Witchers would use, but it will no doubt do the job as well as any silver or steel sword... better in some cases."

"What kinds of changes would you make, if you could?" she asked, curious.

He shrugged and said, "Nothing, honestly. At first I thought it would serve a better purpose were there steel and a silver blades at opposite ends, but it seems the qualities of dragonbone are more than sufficient for a Witcher's weapon. It has qualities similar to silver that makes it deadly against most monsters, plus it has an extremely high iron content making it very strong and deadly to certain other monsters. Unfortunately it is far too rare a material in this world for all Witchers to carry dragonbone weapons."

She was a little surprised at this. "You don't have dragons here?" she asked.

"We do, but there are few, and they're very devious. Ask Geralt about his last encounter with one... she was very nearly queen of Kaedwen. He was friends with her father as well."

She raised her eyebrows, intrigued. "They were friends, you say? Dragons in this world must be very different creatures than the ones in mine if they can look like and consort with humans rather than just  _eating_  them. In any case, the staff isn't what does most of my killing for me. Thank you for trying, Vesemir."

She left the hall, retrieving her staff on the way out the door, and walked to the stables where Geralt was already preparing their horses. She took over saddling her mount while he finished his own, securing her saddle bags across the horse's back behind the saddle. She punched the horse in the belly softly to get him to relax so she could tighten the cinch enough to keep the saddle in place, then moved to his head to check the bridle. She fed him small pieces of apple as a reward for behaving and cooed soothing words while scratching his ears affectionately.

"You're good with horses," Geralt commented as he mounted his steed.

"You never noticed it before?" she asked curiously. They'd spent weeks on the road with just the two of them and their horses and she hadn't behaved any differently just now.

"I did," he said. "I was just preoccupied with other things." He had noted her horsemanship but had been too absorbed in the details of the grimoire to comment on it... or too absorbed in  _her_.

She laughed ruefully. "Yes, well... I suppose in my world we have quite a bit in common. Horses are more intelligent than most people realize and could easily kill you if they wanted to. Why would anyone deliberately antagonize a creature like that?" She reached down and stroked her horse's withers affectionately.

She emitted a shrill whistle and Lusa came bounding around a corner, startling the chickens that were pecking at the ground near the stables. His stumpy tail practically vibrated with the excitement of getting to be out and about for the first time in several days.

"So, where are we off to, to hunt this monster?" she asked as they passed beneath the raised portcullis and heard the chains creak as Vesemir lowered it behind them.

"One of the nearby villages has a kikimore infestation in their mine. And, as it happens, we need a kikimore brain for one of your mutagens."

She remembered reading of kikimores in Geralt's bestiary. They were armored insectoid creatures that sounded vaguely like spiders. She shivered slightly at the thought. But her understanding was that they burrowed underground rather than building webs, so at least there was no danger of them dropping unexpectedly out of the air. She hated spiders.

* * *

They rode for awhile in comfortable silence. Lusa meandered around them, sniffing at the underbrush and peeing on trees as they went. There was a brisk autumn chill in the air but the morning was clear, and the mountains surrounding the path they traveled were ablaze with the rising sun illuminating the vibrant reds and golds of the changing leaves. Solona didn't think she'd ever seen a more beautiful sight in her life. She actually felt, if not precisely happy, at least  _content_ at the moment. Being on the road again with Geralt felt right, even if it was just for a short trip. The village with the contract they were after was half days' ride from Kaer Morhen so if all went well they would be able to return to the fortress that night.

She sensed him looking at her and turned her gaze towards his. In her peripheral vision she saw the hand resting on his thigh make an odd gesture and his eyes flashed with subtle yellow light. There was a sudden odd sensation at the front of her mind as though he had just lobbed a psychic volley at her and she caught it reflexively, as deftly as she had caught the dish he'd flung at her the other night.

" _What the hell?"_ she thought, and saw him blink back at her in surprise.

" _Solona?_ " she heard his deep voice reverberate inside her head but his lips remained unmoving, his brow furrowed in consternation, his eyes searching hers.

Her lips tilted up in a small smile, " _What did you just do? Are you actually in my head?_ "

His voice came back deep and clear. Its presence directly inside her mind felt strange, but not unpleasant. " _It would appear so... I was trying the Axii sign to see how you would react to it. You caught it like a pro. It surprised me, to be honest. Especially that you seem to be as much in_ my _head at the moment, too. This has never happened to me before._ "

" _Why do you think it's happening now?"_ she projected to him, curious.

He shrugged and broke their gaze to turn back towards the road, then spoke aloud. "If I had to guess, we may have already had a psychic connection with each other. There were those moments during your trial, and the dream we shared … in the bath." He cleared his throat softly, pausing to savor that particular memory since it was the last time they'd been that intimate. Even if it had been all in their minds it had felt every bit as intense as reality.

"Besides, we've shared several dreams together even before that. It makes me wonder if the sign was even necessary for me to speak to you telepathically. It's likely that we're linked by the prophecy somehow, and that your changes have attuned us to each other even more."

He thought of what he had told Vesemir the night before her trial began, about how he felt drawn to her on some deep level. The feeling hadn't dissipated. If anything it had grown stronger and it struck him as something deeper than simply carnal desire, although that's how it seemed to manifest most of the time. The past week during her combat lessons had been a challenge for him and he had compensated by being tougher on her in training than he normally would have been, but she had taken it in stride. By the end of the week they seemed to have developed a routine and had found a balance between the intense physical exertion of combat training and semi-comfortable conversation that, while not exactly easy, was manageable as long as they maintained a certain distance when they weren't locked in a fight. She seemed to compensate for it by being a snarky brat and, oddly, the thought made him smile to himself.

She studied him as they continued to ride. He turned to look at her after a moment and saw her contemplative expression as she watched him. He asked suspiciously, "What are you thinking?"

She shrugged and said evasively, "Stuff."

His brow twitched at her answer. "Hmph... sounds like something I would say." He glanced at her again and shook his head, muttering, "Next thing you'll tell me you think I need a bath."

"So you think I'm a snarky brat?" he heard her say abruptly, her tone light and inquisitive. He turned his head sharply and stared at her in surprise. Her eyes were narrowed but he could sense suppressed mirth in the quivering set of her mouth, which bubbled forth into ringing laughter a second later.

"Hah! This is going to be interesting," she said, grinning at him. He scowled at her in response and put up a stronger mental barrier. He felt a subtle psychic prodding a moment later.

"You're no fun," she grumbled.

Ignoring her remark, he said, "Clearly we're poor subjects for each other, but I can still teach you the sign I tried to use. It's a charm spell and extremely effective against humans if you need to coerce information from them or get them to agree to things they wouldn't normally agree to. With a little extra effort you can essentially read minds with it, as you just discovered."

He spent the next hour of their trip explaining the sign to her, showing her the gesture she needed to make with her hand and the psychic force she needed to place behind it when she made it.

They stopped to eat their lunch in a small grove beside the road and let their horses graze. After they finished eating they sat across from each other cross-legged atop a large, flat moss-covered rock and he let her test the sign on him. When he felt it he immediately sensed an opening in her own mind and projected a thought to her, " _This is interesting... when we use the spell on each other it seems to open up a direct connection between us. I wonder if we even need the sign to do it?"_

" _As long as you can refrain from name-calling, I'm willing to test it out,"_ she responded with a smirk.

He broke the connection and said out loud, "Try it without the sign now."

She closed her eyes and projected her thoughts outward. Almost instantly she sensed the familiar shape of his consciousness and the barrier he had placed against his deeper thoughts.

" _It's easy,"_ she thought with surprise. " _What happens if we both let our barriers down?"_

As though in response she sensed something like a door opening in his mind. She hesitated briefly and then dropped her own barrier. She felt as though she had just disrobed in front of him and her heart sped up with anticipation of this new endeavor. Without further ado, she plunged into the depths of his mind and simultaneously felt him enter her own.

The sensation was beyond anything she could have imagined. It was every bit as intimate as sex, but in some ways even more so. She felt immersed in his very being, his every memory, thought, and emotion laid bare to her. She knew that with very little effort she could know him more completely than she had known anyone.

She let out a soft gasp as her eyes flew open and met his. He was gazing back at her with an expression of surprise that mirrored what she was feeling.

" _Geralt, I don't know about this..."_ she thought.

 _"I trust you,"_ she heard his deep voice reverberate in her mind and she began to sense glimmers of his memories. The recently recovered memory of Yennefer's death was still prominent, but more so was the memory of the night in Ard Carraigh after she'd been kidnapped by the king. Both memories were vivid with the emotions that surrounded them and merely witnessing them began to suddenly overwhelm her. His grief over his former lover's death caused a sudden surge of sadness to well up in her, but it was his feelings for her on that night weeks past, still very keenly felt by him, that undid her. She felt her defenses beginning to crumble as they had on that night and retreated abruptly to the relative safety of her own mind.

He sensed her distress as though it were a growing storm in her mind. He could see it gradually manifest itself on her face as her outward expression crumpled and she emitted a small choking cry. He retreated back to himself instantly and reached out to her.

"Solona? What's wrong?" He saw her sitting across from him clutching herself with her arms and rocking back and forth as tears streamed down her face.

"I can't... there's too much... too much... stupid thing to do," she choked out between shaky breaths.

He gathered her onto his lap and held her, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other hand gently stroking her hair.

"Shh... tell me what upset you."

She shook her head, "I... I saw... myself, and I saw Yennefer, but it wasn't what I saw, it was what I ... what  _you_  felt. Geralt how can you bear it? How can you bear those feelings... keeping them that close?"

He finally understood what had distressed her. When they were connected he had delved deep into her psyche and had sensed the emotionally charged issue surrounding his presence in her life, and had begun to see something dark and foreboding within her depths that had her deeper feelings tied up in it, as an infestation of choking vines might be wrapped around the normally healthy flora in a forest. She had something dark in her past. Something she tried very hard to keep buried that as a result made it difficult for her to face her deeper feelings. Coming into contact with his own feelings like that must have been a shock to her.

He continued to stroke her hair gently and said, "Sometimes I can't bear them. Mostly I've just learned to control them. There is a difference between owning your feelings and letting them own you... or denying them completely. I own my feelings, good or bad. They serve as reminders that I'm alive. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by them, but I never deny them."

He looked tenderly at her sun-dappled face, his heart pounding in his chest at the solid weight of her in his arms. He breathed in her scent of sandalwood and leather, and the fainter scent of her tears, as sharp and salty as the sea. She gazed at him through a hazy veil of tears and slid one hand up to caress his rough stubbled cheek. He brought his hand up and wiped the tears from her eyes, then bent his head and laid a gentle kiss against her lips, tasting the sweet remnants of the hard cider they'd shared with their lunch. At the same time he projected a thought to her,  _"Not every feeling is something to dread."_

"Geralt..." she whispered through a sigh against his lips. Then she abruptly pushed away from him and stood up, leaving him feeling suddenly and unbearably weightless without her in his arms. She walked to the edge of the rock and paused, looking down at the leaf-strewn ground below her. She shook her head and rubbed her face savagely with her hands.

"You must think me very weak. I... I'm sorry for breaking down like that."

He stood and began pulling on and lacing his gauntlets. "I'm no stranger to weakness, Solona. You're forgetting last week when I was a crying mess and you held me. You can apologize for screwing up in a fight, but never apologize for your feelings. They're nothing to be ashamed of."

Through clenched teeth, she said, "But feelings are just a  _distraction_ , Geralt. Part of me had hoped that what they said about Witchers was true... that we were unemotional killers. But nothing could be further from the truth. I've never felt so much before. Ever since my trial ended it's all I can do to bury these  _feelings_. And having heightened senses makes it all the harder. Your smell, your touch, the sound of your voice... it drives me mad with  _longing_. I can't  _afford_  to feel this way. There is too much at stake."

"I disagree," she heard him say quietly from behind her, his voice becoming tense and serious. "Solona, you're one of the strongest women I've ever known, but I think you can't afford  _not_  to feel  _everything_."

He brushed past her and hopped off the stone, striding over to where their horses were grazing idly on a sunny patch of grass.

She drew her own gloves back on and followed him, securing her pack to the back of her horse and mounting. They turned back onto the road in silence, the steady clip clop of their horses' hooves and Lusa's snuffling in the bushes the only sounds between them.

* * *

An hour later they reached the small village, nestled cozily in the lee of a rocky cliff at the head of a small valley. They dismounted and led their horses into the main square, which was just a small courtyard paved with stones surrounding a crudely built well. A throng of children of varying ages gathered nearby chattering and the ruckus prompted the adults to stop their work to cautiously observe them.

Geralt called out, "The Witchers received word that there was a contract here. Kikimores in your mine, was it? We're here to complete it for you and rid you of the monsters."

There was a subtle uproar among the children and Solona heard excited talk of "witcher" this and "witcher" that and more notably "is that a girl witcher? I didn't know there were girl witchers!" which made her smile. A very small girl with unruly brown ringlets and a gap-toothed smile found the courage to venture up to her and tug on her leather skirt.

She squatted down and said with a gentle smile, "Hi there, and what's your name?"

The small girl stared at her with vivid blue eyes the size of dinner plates and finally gasped out, "Are - are you a Wit-ther?"

Solona gave the girl a friendly smile and said, "Yes, I am a Witcher. And what are you? Are you a faerie? You're as pretty as a faerie." The little girl giggled at her and shook her head vigorously, her ringlets springing wildly around her face, then reached out small fingers to Solona's hair and tentatively touched the loose white curls that had escaped her headband.

"You're pretty... Wit-thers aren't s'posed to be pretty," the little girl said with innocent certainty. Solona felt the small hand move to the scar on her jaw and flinched, but held still for the girl to touch her face.

"Well... pretty depends on how you look at it." Solona explained to the little girl. "I think he's very pretty," she said, pointing at Geralt. The girl looked at Geralt dubiously and shook her head, causing her crop of ringlets to bounce energetically again.

Solona elaborated, "Sometimes it's what's on the inside that makes someone pretty. If someone is kind and gentle and if they make  _you_  feel pretty sometimes that makes them pretty, to you." Her eyes lingered on Geralt for a few seconds and she let out a small sigh.  _What am I going to do with you? You beautiful, beautiful man._  Geralt's head turned towards her, meeting her eyes briefly. He gave her a puzzled smile.  _I could say the same to you,_  he responded, causing her to blush at the accidental betrayal of her thoughts. She realized she  _had_  been projecting just a tiny bit without even knowing it.

She turned back to the little girl, who nodded to her and said, "You think the boy Wit-ther is pretty!" and she giggled impishly before running back to the other children to share the joke. Suddenly half of them were giggling and pointing. Solona laughed softly to herself and stood up. She heard a soft woof from beside her and looked down to see Lusa peering up at her in inquiry, then looking at the group of children longingly.

"Sorry, boy, we have work to do. Maybe after we're finished you can play, if there's time."

After a moment a heavy-set middle-aged man appeared from a shadowy stoop and answered Geralt. "Aye, Witcher. We have an infestation of monsters in the mine. Best I can tell they are kikimores that tend to plague us every few years. Most times we can avoid them, but this year they've managed to burrow down and collapse parts of the mine so we can no longer work it safely." He gave Solona a curious glance when she walked up to stand next to Geralt.

Geralt faced the man with a posture of casual confidence and nodded. "We'll need someone to show us to the mine, and we need your word that payment is in order for when we return."

The man nodded. "We have little coin, but can pay you in other materials. Surely food is worth more to you this close to winter?"

Geralt replied, "It depends. We don't want anything that will spoil before we can use it." He glanced meaningfully to the far side of the square from where they had entered, his eyes resting on a small, nondescript building with a pair of tall chimneys that were steadily spouting out tall gouts of whitish smoke. "I see you have a still. We'd be happy to accept payment in spirits rather than gold."

The man looked at Geralt appraisingly and nodded, "Aye, that can be arranged." Then he called over his shoulder in a loud bellow, "Bekim! Get out here and show the Witchers to the mine."

A surly boy with a narrow frame and large feet, who appeared to be nearing adulthood, shuffled out of the shadows of the cottage. He blinked at them for a moment before his eyes settled on Solona and his face lit up for a brief second before he managed to hide his reaction and his face went back to ill-mannered indifference.

He mumbled almost incoherently, "The mine's up this way." Solona was briefly grateful that her hearing was so much improved or she wouldn't have been able to understand him at all.

They led their horses and followed the boy up a wide and well-worn path that wound up the mountainside behind the village. When they rounded the first bend, the boy's demeanor changed significantly.

"You two are both Witchers, ain't you?" he asked, his brusque attitude becoming one of genuine curiosity.

"We are," Geralt replied.

The boy eyed Geralt's swords and studied Solona intently for several moments.

"I didn't know there were girl Witchers," he stated bluntly.

"There aren't," Geralt said sternly. "Solona is a special case."

The boy remained quiet for several moments but Solona could tell he was working up the nerve to say something. Finally he cleared his throat and said in an an anxious tone, "What do you have to do to... to become a Witcher? Is there a test of some kind?"

Solona and Geralt exchanged a look of understanding and then Geralt spoke. "There are grueling trials Witcher initiates have to undergo, Bekim. First, they have to prove their physical abilities; their combat skills. That involves years of training. If they prove themselves in the initial tests there are other tests to undergo, but those are secret. Just know that not everyone is cut out to be a Witcher. Very few actually are."

Bekim nodded and kept his eyes on the path ahead of them. "But if I wanted to... if I volunteered... would you take me?" He glanced back at Geralt hesitantly.

Solona shot a sidelong look at Geralt and could tell he struggled with the answer to the boy's question.

Solona interjected suddenly, "Bekim, why do you want to be a Witcher? It's a very hard, very dangerous life. Most of the world despises them and the rest just want to use them. They find very little comfort and live very lonely lives."

The boy paused before her on the path for a beat, his shock of jet black hair falling into his blue eyes, obscuring his expression from her. He tossed his hair out of his eyes and turned to face her with an look of desperate purpose. His voice cracked every so slightly as he spoke, betraying his youth to her.

"M'lady, ever since two weeks ago... when them things attacked us in the mine... nobody talks to me. You say Witchers is lonely, well I'm about as lonely as they come. My ma and da are gone, and my brother, too. Killed by those monsters. I... " his voice cracked, this time with emotions that he struggled to control. He continued in a near whisper, his bright eyes wide and rimmed with unshed tears, "I was there when it happened. I saw what they did, but I couldn't do nothing to help. I just ran and hid." He paused and said bitterly, "Now the whole town hates me, 'cause I didn't stay down there to die. Maybe I should have, but I didn't, and the only thing I can think to make up for it now is to kill the bloody monsters that caused it, and to keep killing them for the rest of my life."

There was a long, pregnant silence that was finally broken by Geralt's deep, steady voice. "That's more of a reason than most boys have when they're recruited to be Witchers. It's your choice, Bekim. If that's what you want, we'll take you with us when we go."

The boy seemed visibly relieved, but equally pensive as they continued up the path.

They reached the mine entrance half an hour later, a rickety wooden door built into a roughly chiseled rocky face. There was a packed dirt path leading into the doorway with wooden planks embedded into the earth. The surrounding area was flat, well-worn earth, with two paths leading away from it. Solona could see a small shack up a hill at the end of one of the paths and heard the distinct sound of a small waterfall down the opposite hill where the other path led.

Bekim looked suddenly very anxious for the two of them as they made their preparations for monster killing. Geralt removed his swords from his saddle and slung the leather bandolier that held them across his shoulders. He slipped several small vials of dark liquid into the loops at the front of one shoulder and handed more vials to Solona, which she stashed snugly in loops she'd added at the front of each shoulder of her own armor.

"I... I want to come with you. To kill them," Bekim said intently.

"Of course you do," Solona replied. "But you can't. You're not ready yet."

The boy looked somewhat peeved at her response, but also relieved. She admired him for that. He was brave, but not stupid. And he was bright enough to realize that they would have rejected his request to join them in the mine anyway, otherwise he wouldn't have asked.

Geralt strode over to him and handed him a small steel dagger, "Stay out here and take care of our horses. If anything comes out that doesn't look human, stab it."

Bekim nodded and smiled nervously. "I think I can do that."

Geralt opened the door to the mine. The poorly constructed barrier fell open with an eerie creak. He paused for a second and looked back at Lusa who was waiting eagerly behind them. He gave the dog a serious look then turned to Solona.

"We'll need to work as quietly as possible on this one. Even the smallest sound or vibration might attract them and we'll need to catch them unawares as much as possible.

Solona nodded and turned to kneel down before Lusa. "You need to stay up here, too, okay?" He gave her a concerned whine and she scratched his ears, feeling suddenly sad at the realization that there were places she could go now where he wouldn't be able to follow. She leaned closer and whispered in Lusa's ear, "Stay and make friends with Bekim. He seems like he could use a friend right now." Lusa responded with a soft, conspiratorial "woof" that made her smile.

They stepped into the darkness and the door creaked shut behind them.

 _Are you okay communicating like this for awhile?_  she heard Geralt ask inside her mind. She hesitated for a second before replying,  _Yes._

 _Light, and Cat couldn't hurt either,_  he said to her, and with a small force of will her staff began to glow brightly. Then she reached to her shoulder to grab the appropriate potion, uncorked it and tossed it back, recorking and stashing the empty vial back where it had been stowed previously. Almost instantly the shapes within the mineshaft became stark and highly contrasting monotones as though an ethereal light were blazing down from above them.

They moved forward quickly but cautiously. She could clearly see the outlines of the roughly hewn corridors and Geralt's solid form before her. She descended behind him for interminable moments with her staff clutched solidly in her fist before he finally came to a halt at the opening of a larger chamber with several ore-laden wagons and a large pit gaping ominously in the center.

 _We need to go down there,_  she heard inside her head.

 _Well... what are you waiting for?_ She projected back, hoping her impatience was conveyed along with her words. He turned to look at her with an expression of mildly amused irritation.

He stepped to the edge of the pit and squatted down, looking into the blackness beneath him. She could hear restless skittering in the darkness beyond. She saw Geralt uncork another potion and swallow it quickly, then draw his silver sword.  _Let's do this_ , she heard in her mind and he disappeared into the darkness below them.

She stepped to the edge, taking a brief second to pull in enough energy to charge her cleansing aura, then dropped in behind him.

When her feet hit the ground he was already engaged in battle with the large, bug-like creatures that infested the chamber they'd descended into. There were dozens of the creatures surrounding them and the acrid smells they emitted burned her sinuses and briefly blinded her. When she recovered she saw Geralt stabbing the last beast through its soft armor and gesturing to her to follow him down a dark tunnel.

_Those were just workers, the further we go the tougher they'll get. Be ready._

She heard an eerie screech echo through the tunnels around them as they entered the next chamber. There were crumbling, clattering noises as a dozen six-legged bodies erupted from the ground beneath them. Geralt made quick work of four of them with a few fast sweeps and stabs of his sword and Solona tossed the rest solidly against the far wall with her force spell. One twitched to life and Geralt stabbed it unceremoniously.

 _Burn the eggs if you see them,_  he told her, gesturing at what was clearly a nest of some sort off in one corner filled with large, glistening eggs. There was an explosion of heat and bright fire as she destroyed it. She almost gagged at the smell that assaulted her nostrils as it burned. She turned to follow Geralt down the next narrow corridor.

When they were about halfway through the corridor she felt the hairs rise up on the back of her neck and the ground beneath her feet began to undulate subtly.

 _Behind us!_  she projected to him and turned abruptly, aiming her glowing staff into the darkness. Two large creatures, each triple the size of the ones they'd fought earlier, suddenly erupted out of the earth less than a stride away from her, their claw-like mandibles clicking loudly together.

 _Shit,_  she heard him say,  _We're surrounded. How many back there?_

_Two. And they're huge!_

_Do the best you can. I've got us covered on this side._

She summoned as much magical energy as she could and aimed her staff at the two creatures before her, then focused her power through her staff, sending a solid bolt of force through it into the creature in front. The force hit it with a loud crunch and it was forced back, toppling into the creature behind it and sending them both tumbling back into the room behind them.

She turned around quickly to see how Geralt fared. He was engaged in a deadly dance with three more of the creatures slashing and stabbing gracefully with his silver sword. She turned back to the creatures on her side and saw them both beginning to recover and start towards her again. She stepped forward quickly and knelt to inscribe a quick glyph on the ground, sending a surge of magic through her fingertips to activate it. Then she turned back to the battle going on behind her.

She stepped up behind Geralt and sent a pulse of power out to him, enveloping him in a protective aura, just in time for a serrated claw to swing out and connect with his thigh. It hit solidly but seemed to skid off as though he were contained within his own hard shell. She let out a hiss and cast a force spell at the creature that lifted it up and flung it solidly against the ground several yards back, shattering two of its legs into pieces and causing a gaping crack to form in the chitinous armor across its back. Dark liquid began to ooze from it and the creature slumped to the ground with a crunch and ceased to move.

She heard the sounds of skittering behind her and then a soft *whump* as the creatures hit her glyph and were knocked back again from an explosion of force that was held in her trap. Geralt stabbed one of his assailants solidly through its armor and sent a small wave of force into the other creature, knocking it back. He was breathing heavily from the exertion of the fight and Solona could feel her own magic waning. She expended the last of her power to provide them both a burst of rejuvenating energy.

She turned back to the monsters behind them. The two figures were chomping their mandibles at her with loud clicks but seemed hesitant to approach her. She stood ready, waiting for them to make a move and letting her magic regenerate. She heard a loud screech behind her as the third of Geralt's attackers finally met its end. She heard him pause to catch his breath then his soft footsteps as he approached behind her.

 _Looks like you scared them. How did you manage that?_ he said, observing the two kikimore warriors that stood in the center of the cave.

 _Oh, just a little surprise I left for them while I was helping you,_ she turned to grin at him.

 _I'm a bit low on magic now,_  she said, spinning her staff around and pointing the bladed end at one of the creatures _. Fancy us taking them both with blades like you showed me in practice?_

He smiled at her with a gleam in his eye then turned and charged at one creature, Solona following quickly behind, her staff aimed at the creature like a javelin. At the last second the two Witchers spun in pirouettes in opposite directions. Solona planted the blunt end of her staff in the ground, using it to spin and propel her over the back of the creature. She landed softly behind it and buried her blade into its torso with a satisfying crunch at the same time Geralt's blade pierced the armor of the other creature.

She yanked her blade from the creature's back and turned to see Geralt striding towards her with fire in his eyes. The next second his arms were around her, one strong hand gripping the back of her neck, and his mouth was on hers, kissing her hungrily. She returned the kiss ardently, but just as abruptly he released her and was walking away again. She stood catching her breath as much from the kiss as from the fight. Her lips felt alive with sensation, as did other parts of her body.

_What- what the hell was that?_

_Consider it positive reinforcement. It's a training tactic,_  he said, shooting her a sly smile.

 _Training tactic, my ass. It's_ _dangerous_ _is what it is,_  she shot back with an irritated glare.

_Then just think of it as a way to build up our defenses... against each other._

_You just wanted to prove to yourself that you could do it, didn't you? You wanted to prove that you_ _could_ _stop in the heat of the moment. Well, do me a favor and don't..._  she shot him a frustrated look. _Don't fuck with me like that._

_Quit bitching. You liked it._

She stared at him, incredulous.  _Of course_ _I liked it. That's the problem. In case you've forgotten, we're not allowed to … to be intimate until the ritual. Stunts like that only serve to test our limits, and if we're not careful we'll end up giving in._

_I disagree. We have months to spend together before we complete the ritual. We need to test our limits so we know exactly what they are. Are you telling me that if I'd kept kissing you, we'd have been rolling around, screwing our brains out in the dirt right now?_

_No... I would have stopped you._

_Exactly. So why not celebrate a little victory on occasion._ He strode back over to her and gazed at her intently, his expression one of subtle challenge.  _One kiss is nothing. If you want a real test, I'll give you one._

She sighed and said with eyebrows raised,  _Very tempting, but maybe we should finish killing some monsters first?_

He nodded at her with a smile she thought carried some amount of pride with it, as though she had just passed the real test.

 _Great job on that attack, by the way,_  she heard his voice inside her mind again.  _Your launch was a little off... maybe we should work with staves more when we get back to the fortress._

She laughed softly to herself and followed him into the next chamber, stepping over kikimore carcasses as they went.

They fought several more of the large warriors before they reached a deep chamber far beneath the entrance. There they found the remains of several human bodies that appeared to have been dragged there, presumably to feed the queen who they could see nestled in a back corner. They had encountered a few caches of eggs in other chambers, which Solona had dispatched unceremoniously with a blast of fire from her fingertips, but it seemed every edge of the final chamber and much of the floor before them were carpeted with them. When they stepped quietly into the room she accidentally kicked a small cluster of eggs which burst open and oozed dark fluid onto the ground, sending an acrid odor to her nose.

There were workers scuttering around everywhere, but no warriors that she could see. That didn't mean they weren't there, lurking beneath the earth.

 _Do you think we can lure the minions out without bringing the queen with them?_  she asked.

He nodded.  _As long as we don't disturb too many of her eggs, I think so._

They retreated back into the previous chamber. He shot a cautionary glance her way before he started stomping one foot into the ground in a steady pulse. She gathered her power, making ready for the fight ahead.

She could hear them coming. There were crumbling noises as the earth beyond the room shifted to allow their passage through it. A moment later a throng of workers burst out of the ground around them and assaulted them in unison.

Solona threw a force spell in the center of the group nearest her, hurtling them out in a wide circle, then immediately followed it up with its counterpart, grabbing them all and yanking them back to the center to collide with each other in a deadly crunch.

Geralt stood at her back facing the opposite direction and deftly fended off the assault of more creatures with his blade.

More creatures poured out of the softened earth where the first groups had come from.

 _Hold still for a moment,_ she said to Geralt, then squatted down with one hand to the ground, gathering her magic and projecting it with as much force as she could muster directly into the earth beneath her. The ground began to shake violently and the remaining creatures were suddenly expelled from it as though they had been spat out from the earth itself. Many of them lay upended, their armored legs clawing at the air above them.

She and Geralt made quick work of the dazed creatures that lay helplessly about them, leaving only twitching shells behind.

 _Nice work!_  he said.  _Almost makes me want to kiss you again._  He grinned at her.

She gave him an exasperated look, rolling her eyes.  _You can kiss me again once we make it back to open air._

_I'm going to hold you to that._

_Fine. Whatever. Let's just go kill this thing, okay?_

_After you,_  he gestured gallantly to the entrance to the queen's lair.  _Burn enough of her eggs and she'll come running. I'll be ready when she comes for you._

Solona nodded at him and threw a couple rejuvenating spells at them both, then stepped into the room, aiming her staff at the ground. A second later a solid stream of flame erupted from the end of her staff, turning to ashes anything that stood in its path.

"Come and get it, bitch!" she yelled as loudly as she could. She could see Geralt's profile softly skulking around the edge of the room with his silver sword glinting in the eerie light the Cat potion lent to the room around her.

The massive six-legged form of the kikimore queen shifted sluggishly from its corner. Solona burned a few more clusters of eggs, and the queen suddenly let out an inhuman screech and lunged towards Solona.

At the same moment Geralt vaulted onto her back with his sword raised ready to strike. The queen reared up, her serrated legs flailing in the air, trying to dislodge the figure on her back. Not having anything to gain purchase with, Geralt went flying with a loud curse, and landed with a brittle, liquid crunch onto another cluster of eggs several yards away.

The queen lunged again towards Solona, who tumbled deftly around her to the other side of the room.  _Geralt, are you alright? Are you injured?_

_I'm fine. She's a slippery one... can you knock her around a little bit?_

Solona gathered her will again, focusing as much power as she could into her staff, which she aimed at the lumbering insectoid creature. The force spell pounded into the queen with a crunch that staggered her briefly, but failed to move her.

_That's all I've got... I'm a little low on magic right now._

_Try a Tawny Owl. I gave you one before we came in._

She remembered seeing the potion and wondering what it was for. She drew it out and popped the cork off, chugging it down in a quick gulp. Immediately she began to feel the magic surging back to her, quicker even than her rejuvenation spell had worked.

While she was swallowing the potion she could see Geralt begin his assault on the queen. He danced around her with a barrage of slashes and stabs that painted streaks of light where his silver sword arced through the air. It was utterly beautiful to observe.

He hopped quickly backwards as the creature began to advance on him, her sharp mandibles clicking wildly and her forelegs swiping, razor-sharp protuberances threatening to slice him open if they connected.

Solona felt her magic surge back to its full strength and sent out a quick " _Stand back!"_  to Geralt who gracefully somersaulted backwards out of range of the beast. She aimed her staff at the queen a second time, gathering as much power as she could. She sent the spell hurtling out at the creature, imagining the fist she had seen the day they had fought the koshchey. The spell didn't manifest the same way, but seemed to have a similar effect, barrelling into the queen and tumbling her solidly into the wall behind her, squashing another nest of eggs beneath her. She lay upended, serrated legs flailing in the air.

Solona collapsed into the ash and eggshell-strewn dirt, exhausted. She vaguely registered Geralt striding over to the twitching queen and hopping lithely up onto her belly. As he was about to plunge his blade into the creature she saw one twitching leg swing uncomfortably close to him.  _Watch out behind you,_  she sent to him weakly. He seemed not to hear.

"Geralt, behind you!" she attempted to call out, but was too late. The stray leg with its razor-sharp serrations swiped across his shoulders just as he plunged his sword into the creature's heart, killing it.

He cried out in pain and tumbled off, falling into another cluster of eggs on the far side of the queen's carcass. Solona dragged herself groggily off the ground and stumbled over to him, skirting around the acrid smelling body on the way. She found Geralt in a stinking pile of goo, writhing in agony from the wound on his back.

"Shit," she said when she saw him. She had little energy left for healing after that fight, but would have to do her best. She knelt down before him and winced at the sound and feel of the crushed shells and their former contents beneath her knees.

"Hold still," she said quietly. "Let me see how bad it is."

He gasped and tried to speak, "I... I think some of the... the," he screamed in agony as she attempted to shift his torn armor away from the wound to look at it. "Sw-swallow, give me a Swallow."

She nodded and pulled the potion quickly from her shoulder and fed it to him. After a few seconds his pain seemed to ease, but he seemed groggy and out of sorts. He nodded drunkenly at her.

"That's much better, how's it look?"

She could see a series of several short, even rips that made a line across the shoulders of his armor, straight through the light mail and leather. Beneath the rips were matching wounds in his skin that seemed to be about half closed, with remnants of the acidic kikimore egg slime bubbling out of them as his body expelled it.

"Yuck," she said, wrinkling her nose. "At least your body seems to be dealing with it for now. Tell me what I need to do to finish up in here."

He nodded and collapsed against the wall, leaning forward onto his bent knees to avoid irritating his injury. "Burn the rest of the eggs. Then cut out her brain stem. It's in her ass."

She gave him a dubious look. He shrugged, "Hey, I didn't make the monsters. That's where it is."

She found the energy to burn the few egg clusters that remained, then pulled out a dagger and went to work at the creature's hindquarters to extract the brain stem while Geralt slurred instructions to her. A moment later she extracted the bloody, grey mess that was the kikimore queen's brain stem, trailing with dark tendrils of thick grey matter. It was smaller than she'd expected it to be, she thought, and she stowed it in an empty leather pouch at her hip.

She went back and knelt next to Geralt who blinked up at her with a bleary grimace. She looked back at him with a concerned expression. "How are you doing? Feel like you're recovering? Can you walk yet?"

He blinked at her. "Too... many questionsh," he forced out. "Pretty sure I'm poishoned, though. You might... you might need to give me a  _bath_ ," he leered at her.

She snorted at him. "Sounds like you're feeling just fine. Lean forward so I can see your wound."

He obeyed and she expended what little healing power she had to seal up his wounds. Unfortunately it seemed to do nothing for the toxicity in his blood that was making him loopy. He seemed to be a very happy, very  _horny_  drunk. It actually reminded her a little of Alistair, she realized with a small twinge. Except Alistair had never been prone to such lewdness.

"Let's get out of here," she said, reaching down to pull him to his feet. He swayed drunkenly for a second before steadying himself on her arm. She stooped down to grab her staff that lay still illuminated on the ground beside her, and they began to make their way up out of the depths of the mine.

"Ugh, you probably do need a bath, but not because you're poisoned. You reek. How much egg goop did you roll around in?" she coughed softly and struggled not to gag at the smell that emanated from him. He harumphed at her.

He insisted that they stop along the way and made her extract the valuable ingredients from the creatures they had killed on their way in. When they finally reached the surface again, Geralt was struggling to stand and it was all Solona could do to help him the last few yards through the door.

Dusk was falling, she could see. They would be camping here for the evening. She rested Geralt on the ground against the rocky doorway of the mine.

"Are they dead?" Bekim asked anxiously, shooting a concerned and mildly disgusted look at the state Geralt was in.

She nodded. "We took care of them all. They won't be bothering anyone again."

Lusa hopped up from where he'd been laying and ambled over to lick her hand. She gave him a quick scratch on the head.

"We'll need to camp here tonight. Geralt can't travel just yet - he needs several hours to regain his strength. Is there a creek nearby where we can get water?"

Bekim nodded vigorously. "Yes! There's a pool just down the hill behind the mine. If you want I can start us a fire... or I can get water... whatever you need."

Solona nodded, grateful. "You start a fire. I'm going to take Mister Smellypants there down to the water and get him cleaned up." She gestured at Geralt with a wrinkled nose.

She rifled through her pack for a moment and drew out a bar of soap.

"Soap?" Geralt called out belligerently from where he sat. "You packed soap?"

"It never hurts to be prepared," she shot back at him, then walked over and hoisted him up beside her and they staggered like a pair of drunks down the hill to the water.

At the bottom of the hill they found a quaint little cove with a small waterfall that fell into a large pool. The pool fed into a stream that burbled peacefully down the mountain. When they reached it, Solona unceremoniously tossed Geralt into it with a huge splash. After a second he came up spluttering and indignant.

"What the hell?" he yelled at her indignantly, and shivered in the growing twilight.

She tossed the soap at him, which he deftly caught in one hand.

"Clean yourself up or you're sleeping in the mine tonight," she said curtly.

She sat down at the edge of the pool and pulled off her egg-splattered boots and proceeded to scrub them with water, trying to get the noxious goo off them, then peeled off her trousers and went to work on them. She kept seeing red spots flickering before her eyes and blinked repeatedly in an attempt to clear her vision.

The icy chill of the water brought Geralt back to his senses violently. He gave Solona an evil look before he began to scrub himself vigorously with the soap. Normally he would have retaliated against such a blatant insult and was briefly tempted to drag her into the water with him, but he had to admit that the stench was somewhat overpowering. Cold water was the last thing he needed in his state, with the potion and kikimore toxins in his blood, but he was certain she would have a much harder time of it once the effects of the toxins in her blood became noticeable. Pulling her into the water would just add insult to injury in the end. So he endured and scrubbed himself as well as he could.

Realizing he couldn't sleep in soaking wet gear he tossed the soap back onto the shore and struggled with numbed fingers to undo the buckles of his vest. It was even more of a challenge to deal with the laces of his trousers once they were wet and he cursed Solona under his breath.

"Having trouble with something?" she asked impassively.

He grumbled at her. "Do you know how hard it is to untie wet leather?"

She beckoned to him and he waded towards her, stepping out of the water and standing unsteadily on the shore before her seated figure. She shifted onto her knees and deftly untied his leather trousers and then unbuckled his boots. He noticed her hands were beginning to shake slightly.

"That wasn't so hard," she said, looking up at him smugly.

He held her gaze for a moment while a suggestive smile played across his face.

After a second of hearing the proposition he'd just projected into her mind she exclaimed, "Geralt! Will you stop it? You're... practically drunk from toxins. And besides, if you haven't noticed, you were just in freezing cold water. I hardly think you'd be  _that_  impressive to behold right now."

"You're no fun. As a matter of fact, you are the antithis- anteseth-  _antithesis_  of fun," he grumped at her clumsily as he drew off his waterlogged boots, dumping each one out in turn, and then extracted himself from his wet trousers, leaving himself only in wet linen undergarments, which he quickly stripped off as well. He then proceeded to start shivering violently.

"Shit," Solona cursed herself for not thinking to bring a blanket with them. Luckily it wasn't a far walk back up to their campsite. She stood quickly and swayed on her feet from a sudden wave of vertigo, but caught herself before she fell. She gathered Geralt's clothing into a bundle and grasped him around the waist to help him back up the hill, their two pairs of bare feet unsteady on the gravelly path. He slung one arm across her shoulders and leaned on her heavily for support, the damp chill of him immediately soaking into her exposed skin. About halfway up the hill he blurted out, "Let me carry that," and grabbed at the bundle of his clothing, holding it surreptitiously in front of his nether region.

She sniggered at him softly. "You didn't seem so worried about showing off a minute ago, and now you're feeling shy?"

He snorted softly, "Boy wants to be a Witcher. Seeing scars will impress him. Seeing Prince Jolly just out of a cold bath will not."

She laughed. "Only a prince, huh? I would have thought he'd be the king, if anything."

He gave her an exaggeratedly surprised look, "Of course not.  _I'm_  the king. And don't - you - forgetit!" He nodded his head in emphasis of each syllable.

"Well I suppose you have to consider who's really ruling who," she said matter-of-factly.

He looked at her beseechingly and said, "Can we stop talking about my pecker now, please? He's feeling just a little... shy... at the moment." He cleared his throat and stared in an overly dignified manner at the path before them.

"Okay... King Geralt," she said blithely, in an attempt to humor him. "Let's get you and the  _prince_ into some dry clothes before you both die from hypothermia."

"The Prince is somewhat crucial to our mission, after all," he said in mock seriousness and shrugged softly.

She dug a free knuckle into his ribs causing him to gasp, but she was unable to suppress the laughter that bubbled forth from her chest.

They finally reached the campsite and were pleasantly surprised to see that Bekim had a large, crackling fire burning, the horses unsaddled and hobbled for the evening in a grassy clearing nearby, and their two bedrolls thoughtfully unrolled side by side.

Lusa trotted in a moment later and dropped the second of a pair of small, plump rabbits onto the ground in front of Bekim who was busily skinning the first unlucky piece of game.

Bekim looked up with a start when they came over the hill. He stood abruptly and dropped his rabbit on the stump he'd been sitting on, then ran over to help Solona escort the naked Geralt to his bed. They lowered him gently and Solona wrapped a heavy blanket around his shivering shoulders.

"Anything I can do?" Bekim asked anxiously.

Solona shook her head. "No. He'll be fine. He just needs to get warm and get some rest. You go back to cooking. We'll need to get some food in him, too."

Bekim stared thoughtfully at Geralt's scarred torso for several seconds, then bent down to take the man's bundle of wet clothing from him. He glanced at Solona and his brow creased suddenly.

"You don't look so good, neither," the boy said to her with a tone of deep concern.

"I'm fine," she objected.

"No... you... you're very pale, are you feverish?" He held the back of his hand up to Solona's head and nodded.

"Sit," he commanded, and she sat on her own bedroll, suddenly realizing she was too weak to do any more than follow orders.

She heard an unsteady whisper beside her. "It's- the p-potions," Geralt said through chattering teeth. "I had th-three, which is n-normally f-fine for me, but with the added t-toxins from the kikimores, it outdid me. Your system must not be yet ready to m-manage that many. Two potions were almost too many for you and adrenaline can only keep you going for so long."

She nodded and slumped back onto her bedroll, watching as the world began to swim around her. She lay quietly, unable to do more than breathe for several moments. Eventually she found the will to pick up her hands to remove the rest of her hide armor and place it on the ground beside her cleaned boots and trousers. The bitter chill in the air caused goose flesh to rise up on her skin and she shivered briefly in her small cotton undershirt and the skimpy smallclothes she wore. She wrapped herself tightly in her blanket just as her teeth began chattering loudly. She shivered violently as she lay there trying to get warm, her head still swimming woozily from the toxins in her blood.

 _Come to me_ , she heard in her head and looked over to see Geralt still shivering beneath his own blanket, his skin pale and clammy and his lips an unhealthy shade of blue.

She lifted up her blanket and shifted over to him, sliding beneath his blanket to press her body against his. She draped her own blanket across them both and wrapped her arms tightly around his naked torso.

He wrapped both his arms and legs around her and buried his head under the blanket by her shoulder.

 _Warm... you are so warm... thank you._  She could hear the relief as much as feel it in his body as his shivering gradually abated. Her own shivering also subsided as their shared heat began to warm her.

They both just lay there for what seemed an eternity. No thoughts, no movement, just sucking in each other's warmth.


	19. The New Recruit

Bekim stood anxiously for a moment, looking at the two Witchers as they shivered under their blankets, unsure of what he should do exactly.  _She said Geralt just needs rest... maybe that's all she needs, too?_ he thought. He made his decision then. They were just sick. He knew how to deal with "just sick".

He set Geralt's wet bundle of clothing by the fire. Solona had already removed her gear and curled up under her blankets, so he picked up her damp boots and trousers as well. Both Witchers seemed to be shivering from cold. That couldn't be good. He suddenly wished he'd laid their beds closer to the fire, but there was no moving them now, and there were no more blankets.

Well, if he couldn't warm them, he would feed them. You need to feed an illness, his mother had always said to him when he was sick, just before spooning hot soup into him. He found a small cooking pot in their gear, which he filled with water and began cooking the freshly skinned rabbits in. He suddenly acutely felt the loss of his mother as he set the pot in the coals of the fire to cook. She had been an ever comforting presence for his entire life, tending to his hurts, comforting him when he was upset, nursing him when he was ill. It tore at him to think that she had sacrificed herself so that he might live.  _It should have been me who died to save her_ , he thought with anguish. Instead she had died, along with his father and brother, and he had lived.

He forced himself to stop thinking about them. The creatures that had caused their deaths were dead now, thanks to the two people across the campfire from him. He decided he would do anything to help them in return.

After awhile he added some dried vegetables to the bubbling stew pot along with a pinch of the aromatic spices he'd found in their packs. He glanced over at them and saw that Solona had shifted closer to Geralt and was holding him tightly beneath their shared blankets, all that was visible was their brilliant white hair shining in the firelight. He wondered briefly if being a Witcher meant his hair would turn white. He reached up and tugged his fingers through is sleek black locks. Not that it mattered, he thought. He sat pondering the mound of blankets where they lay holding each other. Were they married? Did Witchers even get married? They had seemed familiar with each other but not affectionate in the way a married couple would be... at least not the way his parents were, or even his brother and his wife. His mind wandered to Solona briefly. She was very pretty... and not at all like the girls his age, but he didn't think she was that much older than he was. She had been nice to him, speaking to him in that delicately lilting voice of hers. It had made his heart flutter and he blushed to himself remembering it now.

He continued to watch them thoughtfully and noticed that they seemed to have stopped shivering so violently, which was a good thing, but his eyes lingered, and he wondered for a moment what other intimacy might be occurring beneath those blankets.

While the stew was cooking he found a large branch and braced it across a few large rocks near the fireplace, then hung the wet clothes from it to dry in the heat of the fire.

Bekim thought about all the scars he'd seen on Geralt's body earlier. It had never occurred to him how dangerous Witcher work must be, but if the two of them could trek into a dark mine infested with those  _things_  and both make it back out alive, that was a feat in itself. It wasn't really surprising that they would end up with a few scars. He had seen the back of Geralt's armor when they stumbled down to the water earlier. Something really, really big had caused those rips and he could see the blood stains that had soaked through. What had been down there? The creatures he'd seen had been no larger than a dog. Even the Witchers' big dog could have taken on one of those creatures, easily.

Bekim himself had even managed to kill a couple with his pickaxe before his father had shoved him out of the way a split second before the ground had collapsed beneath everyone. Everyone except Bekim, who had been thrown clear. He was the only one who hadn't been caught in the collapse so he hadn't witnessed their ultimate fate, but he had heard the sounds, the screams of pain amidst the awful skittering, screeching sounds the monsters made. He just sat, staring in horror at the gaping hole while he listened to the sounds of his friends and family being slaughtered until there were no more sounds but the ringing in his ears and his own soft, ragged breathing. He had finally found the will to leave the mine and somehow made it back to town, although he had no memory of doing so.

Bekim was suddenly struck with uncertainty about the choice he had made. He knew Witchers were outcasts. He'd always heard the stories that they were little more than monsters. Monsters that had been created long ago for the purpose of killing other monsters. He had thought if he joined them they would make him one of them and he would be able to put these terrible feelings of loss and loneliness behind because monsters had no feelings. That was what he had always heard of Witchers, at least - that they had no feelings, but did he really want that kind of life? He already knew what it felt like to be an outcast. His family was dead and his friends had shunned him and would only talk about him behind his back, or point and stare. At one point early on they had thrown rocks at him until Reznik made them stop. His brother's wife and his niece were the only ones left, and she had cast him out of the house they all shared in her grief over his brother's death. No, he knew he needed to go, for them as well as for himself.

The dog barked at him suddenly, disrupting his contemplation. He looked up to see the dog staring intently at the pot nestled in the coals of the fire.

"Is it done, boy?" Bekim asked the dog, who whuffed back at him softly. The boy stepped over to the fire and pulled the sleeve of his jacket down to cover his palm, then grabbed the pot by its handle and pulled it off the glowing coals. He pulled the lid off and stuck a spoon into the steamy contents, stirring it and then tasting it gingerly.

"Yep, you're right!" he said to Lusa, giving the dog a rewarding pat. He distributed stew into three bowls, and placed one bowl before the dog then took the other two over to the Witchers.

He hesitated for a second when he approached them, not sure if he should interrupt their rest.

"Are... are you hungry?" he asked quietly. "I made rabbit stew."

He stood waiting, uncertain, then thought he heard a muffled rumble from beneath the blankets. It sounded vaguely like, "Mmm... food."

The lumpy pile of blankets shifted and one pale,scarred face peered out at him, strange, slitted eyes blinking wearily. Geralt's expression was looking more alert and less sickly than it had earlier, at least. He sat up and let the blanket fall away from his lean, muscular torso, then looked down at Solona and shook her gently. Bekim tried not to stare at the Witcher's scars in fascination. His mother had always taught him that it wasn't polite to stare.

"Wake up, Sol. You need to eat something," he said sternly to her.

Geralt gestured and Bekim handed him the two bowls along with a handful of hard biscuits. The boy saw him begin to shiver again and asked, "Do you have dry clothes in your pack?"

Geralt looked up at him and nodded, murmuring, "Left saddle bag," around a mouthful of food.

Bekim followed his instructions and came back a moment later with a dry woolen shirt and breeches, which he handed to the Witcher. It would be enough to get him through the night until his clothes were dry.

To his amusement he saw Lusa lay down next to Solona and nuzzle at her head, whining softly and licking at her ear. She swatted at him weakly in irritation and then sat up sluggishly.

"Fine, you win," she said with mild indignation. Geralt handed her bowl to her with a merry wink at the dog, who stood up and panted happily at him.

Geralt gave Bekim an appraising look. "You did good tonight, with the camp. And the food -  _especially_  the food. I appreciate it."

Bekim nodded back at him as manfully as he could manage. He wasn't used to such praise.

Geralt continued, "You should have made a bed for yourself. We had enough blankets..."

Bekim shook his head. "No, sir. You and the lady need the blankets more'n I do... besides, there may be something I can use up in... in the foreman's shack." He pointed vaguely up the hill into the darkness.

Solona sat crunching on a biscuit and turned a creased brow in the direction of the shack she had seen earlier in the day. She swallowed her food, then reached out to her pile of gear and grabbed her staff. It illuminated brightly and she offered it to Bekim.

"Take this with you. If there's anything bad up there, stab it with the pointy end," she grinned at him.

Bekim was briefly mesmerized by her smile, but took her staff obediently and began trekking up the short path to the shack above the mine.

Her staff was not as heavy as it looked, and the light was oddly comforting in the darkness. When he reached the door to the shack he paused and gathered his courage. He hadn't been up here since that day two weeks past. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

His nose was instantly filled with the sweetly pungent odor of the leaves his father used to smoke, mixed with the sharper smell of the soap his mother used for their laundry. The wave of familiar aromas caused a surge of grief to well up inside him and he stood unmoving for a second, his heart pounding in his chest. With resolve he finally took another deep breath and wiped his eyes, then entered the shack.

The light emanating from the staff brightly illuminated the interior of the small room. He was amazed at how familiar it all looked, yet how alien at the same time. It was just as it had been on that day. Exactly the way his father had left it when he'd run into the mine at the alarm. Bekim's mother had been there that day, visiting and bringing his father's lunch to him, and she had run into the mine after her husband. Bekim and his older brother had both been inside working. He knew his mother... she would have given her own life to save her children, and she had, but only Bekim had lived. He knew that if he could he would give his life for all of them to be alive again. He forced himself to shake the feeling and focus on what he had come here for.

The shack was furnished only with a small table, a chair, and a small cot in one corner for when his father had to oversee a night shift in the mine. Fortunately, he saw nothing that needed stabbing, the only intruders being a small nest of mice that had taken up residence inside the pillow on the cot, which he left alone. Luckily the rest of the bedding still appeared to be intact. He quickly grabbed the blankets off the cot and looked around. He saw his father's leather pack resting in the far corner by the table and stared at it for a moment before stepping over to pick it up. From the table he grabbed his father's carved bone pipe, stashing it in his pocket.

He surveyed the room to see if there was anything else of value, then turned to leave. Hanging on a peg just inside the door he saw his father's leather coat with the woolen scarf his mother had knit for him draped over it. He reached out a tentative hand and touched the sleeve, then the fringe of the scarf. He had vivid memories of his father wearing the coat and scarf while they walked to the mine together, which they had done every day since Bekim had been old enough to accompany him. He had only just started working in the mine himself and had been determined to make his father proud. He never expected that his entire world would fall apart in the span of a day, leaving him with nothing but bitter regret that he was even alive.

With a shaky hand he unhooked the coat and scarf and gathered them into the bundle in his arms, then went back out the door, shutting it carefully behind him.

When he reached camp again he dropped the things into a pile on the ground, then fed a few more large pieces of wood into the fire. He served himself the remainder of the stew and sat on his stump, hunched over his bowl and eating in silence while he stared at his father's pack, hesitant to open it for fear of the memories that would be unleashed. He paused in his eating for a moment and drew the bone pipe out of his pocket. He inhaled deeply the scent of its contents, then set it gently on a flat stone at the edge of the fireplace and gazed at it while he finished his supper. He'd always been fascinated by the object and by his father's small ritual when he would prepare it for smoking - first cleaning it thoroughly, and then packing it gently with the leaves before lighting it with a small twig held in a flame for a second. The pipe was carved on three sides with the three faces of the goddess Melitele: a young girl, a woman, and a crone. It had been a gift from Bekim's mother before he'd been born and he knew his father had treasured it.

There was a rustling sound from across the camp and he looked up to see the blankets covering the Witchers shift and settle again. He heard a soft, rumbling murmur followed by low, deep laughter. It was answered a moment later by the lighter, more melodic sound of the woman's voice, speaking in a penitent tone. He concentrated on his dinner in an effort not to eavesdrop, but couldn't help but think what she was saying sounded like an apology. He wondered what she could ever do that might require an apology.

When he was finished eating, he quietly stepped over to pick up the bowls and spoons the Witchers had left and carried them down to the water to wash them along with his own bowl and the empty stew pot. As he was walking down the path he heard a loud, feminine yelp followed by deep, throaty laughter. He distinctly heard her yell out, "You  _bastard_!" before she erupted into her own soft laughter. It reminded him of the antics his brother and his wife would get up to when they were still courting - little incidents of affectionate torture to get back at the other person for some small insult. He could tell from Solona's reaction that she had liked it in spite of her outburst. The small reminder of his old life caused a surge of desolation to well up in him as he sat in the dark scrubbing the dishes in the icy cold water. Tears began streaming down his face and he sat staring at the starlight rippling on the water for several moments after he was finished cleaning the dishes. He used to be surrounded by such sounds of happiness on a daily basis, and he sorely missed them.

He dried his eyes and returned to camp with the clean dishes, stowing them back where he had found them. He shook out the blankets he'd retrieved and laid them on the hard dirt near the fire, rolling up his father's coat for a pillow and then lay down to sleep. When he was comfortable he felt the big dog lay down behind him and rolled over to give him a soft scratch on the head.

He lay looking at the starry sky for several minutes unable to sleep, the myriad stresses of the day still running through his mind. He turned on his side facing the fire and glanced across to the other side. He saw Solona laying on her side with eyes open and staring at the fire, a wisp of white hair loosely curling across her cheek. He could see Geralt's bare shoulder behind her and his arm draped across her, their fingers tightly entwined where their hands rested against her stomach outside the blankets. He was struck by her beauty in the warm, flickering light, but even more so by the look of sadness in her eyes, which seemed so incongruous to her mood from moments before. Her eyes flicked up briefly and met his and she gave him a small smile. He averted his gaze abruptly, and turned onto his back again, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep.

* * *

Bekim was awakened later in the dark of night by a sharp cry from the other side of the camp. He sat up abruptly, eyes blinking in the dim glow from the coals of the still smoldering campfire. He looked over to the other side of the camp where the cry had come from and saw Geralt's shadowy form sitting up and holding Solona gently in his arms, rocking her and whispering in her ear. Bekim lay back down and pretended to sleep, but continued to watch them silently in the dim, glowing light, strands of his hair obscuring his eyes.

He had been slightly frightened of the big white-haired man when he'd first seen him, but over the course of the evening had gradually realized how human he was, and now he seemed even more human than the other men he knew. He'd never known another man to behave so tenderly to another person. Was that what it was supposed to look like when a man loved a woman? He'd never seen his father behave that way with his mother. Sure, he'd been sweet to her on many occasions, and there had been no shortage of affection between them, but he'd also never seen his mother upset to that degree. What was Solona so upset about? he wondered. He suddenly remembered himself as a child, waking in the night from a bad dream and crying out, and his mother coming to him and rocking him gently, stroking his hair to comfort him and lull him back into peaceful sleep. He knew then what he was witnessing, but this was different somehow - the way Geralt held Solona, the way he looked at her, the way he stroked her hair, the desperate look in his eyes as he did all that.

She finally drifted off to sleep again, and Bekim watched as Geralt laid her back down, but the Witcher hovered over her for several moments stroking her hair and watching her sleep. Finally he leaned down and placed a soft kiss against her temple and Bekim could swear he heard the man whisper, " _I love you._ "

What he had witnessed made him realize that all the stories he'd heard of what Witchers were like had been wrong. They were as human as he was. As prone to fear and loss and sickness. And clearly as susceptible to love. He wondered what it was that made them so special if they were so  _normal_. Maybe it was just because they were outsiders, but what he had seen so far made them seem somehow  _better_  than most of the people he knew, and he decided that would be a better reason to join them than anything else. He finally drifted off, comforted by the certainty that he had made the right decision.

* * *

Bright sunlight and noises roused him from his sleep the second time. He lay blinking the sleep out of his eyes for several seconds. When his sight cleared, his eyes focused on the nearest motion, which happened to be Solona's scantily clad backside shimmying into her leather trousers, her firm, round behind brightly illuminated in the rising sun. He was mesmerized for a second until he saw Geralt's large form looming near the fireplace. The man glanced at his half-dressed female companion then back at Bekim and gave him a stern glare. Bekim blushed brightly and averted his eyes, sinking back under his blankets defensively.

Geralt chuckled at the boy's reaction and said under his breath in an unmistakeably affectionate tone, "It is a rather hypnotic sight, isn't it? I admit I've fallen under the spell on far too many occasions."

Bekim looked at the man sharply, his brows creased in confusion. Had the other man just admitted - out loud - to doing...  _things_... with her? Geralt shot a friendly grin back at him and said, "Get moving, boy. We need to collect our payment and get on the road. Plus there's the matter of your relocation. I need to make sure we won't be causing any uproar if you come with us."

Bekim was bewildered for a second and completely distracted from the semi-dressed female in their midst, "You... you're taking me with you?"

Geralt studied him with a serious look. "Yes..." he said slowly. "That is what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Y-yes!" Bekim exclaimed. He immediately hopped up and began scurrying to collect his things.

He was anxious as they started the short trek off the mountain back to the town. He'd never considered the possibility that anyone would object to his leaving. He'd always assumed that everyone wanted him gone, but now faced with the prospect of confronting that particular question he was suddenly uncertain. He figured Reznik was the only person who would state an opinion, being the town mayor and the one who had taken him in when he'd been cast out of his family's house. He doubted his brother's wife would care, and the thought caused a tightening in his chest. He'd always thought she'd liked him, before... but now things were different. He knew his little five-year-old niece didn't know any better so she still always greeted him with the same enthusiastic joy as she had before her father had died. He pictured her running up to him with her brown ringlets bouncing around her head, excited about something or other. The little girl's innocent adoration of him was the only thing that had broken through his grief during the past two weeks and he hoped his leaving wouldn't hurt her too much; she'd already lost far too much in her short life.

He heard a noise on the trail behind him and then felt a gentle pressure on his elbow through his jacket.

"Bekim, did you hear me?" Solona asked him. He turned to her and blinked a few times.

"Uh... what?"

She smiled gently which only served to make him a little more tongue tied as she fell into step beside him.

She seemed to hesitate for a second before saying, "Are you sure about this, about becoming a Witcher?"

He was struck dumb for a second before he could respond. She had the most interesting accent. It was like nothing he'd ever heard before. He thought briefly that he wished she'd never stop talking to him, her voice was so pretty just to listen to. And he still had the sight of her shapely bottom burned into his mind. He sighed heavily and then came back to his senses, flustered when he realized he'd barely even registered her question.

"Ah... becoming a - a Witcher... yes. Yes." He cleared his throat and averted his eyes from hers abruptly, then mumbled, "I'm sure."

She was quiet for a moment as she walked beside him, the he heard her ask gently, "Do you mind telling me why you think that's the only option?"

He felt a surge of frustration well up in him. "Why did you do it?" he asked abruptly and turned to look at her intently.

She gave him a steady look before answering with a small sigh. "I didn't have a choice," she said. "But you do. I just want to make sure you're making the choice for the right reasons."

He gave her a desperate glance and turned back to stare at the road. He said, "I don't know... I just know that my da always said it's important for a person to be of use. And I don't feel I can be that here if I'm not wanted." He looked at Solona and helplessly tried to find the words to explain himself. He had nothing left inside him but a burning need to somehow make things right, and he knew he wouldn't be able to do that if he stayed. He finally just gave her a sad little shrug and turned back to face the trail before him.

She nodded and fell silent walking beside him. She was oddly quiet, he thought. She didn't even talk to Geralt that he had heard, but she suddenly fell back to walk next to the other Witcher. He thought he saw her give the man's hand a gentle squeeze and they all walked in silence for the remainder of the short trip back to town.

When they reached the town there was a subtle uproar at their return. They lingered in the square briefly before Reznik emerged with a smile that Bekim knew was only reserved for visitors.

"So, are the mines clear then?" Reznik asked in his nasally voice.

Geralt answered, "The monsters are dead." He untied a bundle of claws from the side of his horse's saddle and tossed them onto the rough-hewn boards of the porch in front of the other man. One of the claws was easily three times the size of the others and obviously had dried blood clinging to it. Bekim wondered if that was the claw of the creature that had injured the Witcher.

Reznik nodded and said, "Your payment will be ready shortly..."

Geralt cut him off, saying, "There is something else of import that we need to discuss. In private."

The other man looked surprised, but after a second he nodded and ushered the Witcher into his house.

Bekim shuffled anxiously where he stood. A moment later Solona came up to him and asked quietly, "Are there any things you need to collect before we go? Now would be the time to do it."

He glanced at her and sat thinking for a moment. He shook his head and said, "No... I already have everything I want. There ain't nothing left here for me."

He could feel her studying him for a moment before she nodded and said. "Okay."

They continued to stand in the square with the horses, fidgeting slightly while they waited for Geralt to finish his conversation with the town's mayor. The big dog sat quietly next to Bekim, gently licking him on the hand every so often; each time Bekim would idly scratch him back.

As they stood in the square Bekim heard the sound of his niece Mila's high-pitched voice ringing out, "Bekim!" He turned to see where she was and saw her on the other side of the square running towards him, the springy coils of her hair bouncing as she approached. He squatted down and she stopped abruptly in front of him and asked breathlessly, "Bekim! Did you thee the monthterth that killed papa? Did you kill any?"

Bekim shook his head, a large lump in his throat made it tough for him to speak to her. He saw her mother approaching out of the corner of his eye and finally whispered quickly to the little girl, "No, but I'm going to go with the Witchers today and they're going to teach me how to kill monsters, so you never have to worry about monsters ever again, because I'll be able to protect you, okay?"

She nodded at him and then threw her little arms around his neck. Abruptly she was hauled away by her mother who merely gave Bekim a dirty look before carrying her daughter off again.

Finally the door to Reznik's house opened and Geralt strode out with a look of irritation. He was followed closely by Reznik who stood on the porch, resolute and unspeaking. The man directed a pointed look at Bekim.

Bekim looked at Geralt beseechingly. Geralt only shook his head and said in a low voice, "It's time we moved on. Bekim, you're riding with Solona. Mount up."

The boy nodded, confused and excited at the same time, but he wasn't oblivious to the look the two Witchers exchanged with each other. Something wasn't right, and he got the sense he shouldn't say anything just now. He gave Solona a leg up onto her horse and she stretched out a hand to help him mount behind her. He hesitated awkwardly, trying to figure out where to place his hands. Finally Solona turned to look over her shoulder with a smirk and said, "Don't be shy, Bekim. Hold on or else you'll end up on your ass in the dirt." He nodded at her and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist.

They rode in complete silence for a time, and Bekim was anxious to find out what Geralt had discussed with Reznik. He knew it must have been about him, but their mood seemed tense and he wasn't sure how to broach the subject. It wasn't until they'd been on the road for about an hour that it occurred to Bekim what was wrong.

"Wait, weren't you supposed to get paid? I remember you talking to Reznik about payment before I showed you to the mine yesterday. Payment in liquor... surely that'd mean a wagon or another horse, wouldn't it?"

The big man turned his head and gave Bekim a sardonic smile. In a gruff voice he said, "We did get paid, kid. You're it."

Bekim was dumbstruck at the comment. He sat with his mouth agape, staring at Geralt. He finally stuttered out a question, "B-but... why... I don't understand..." He was leaving willingly. They didn't even  _want_  him there. Why would they punish the Witchers for taking him away?

Geralt shook his head slowly and explained. "It has nothing to do with you personally, Bekim. It's just the way things work with Witchers. We haven't recruited in decades, and I use the term 'recruit' very loosely to describe what we did to increase our numbers. Usually we would collect able bodied urchins from cities. Children who had nothing else. But it was also common knowledge that we would occasionally take young boys from smaller villages as payment for a contract if no other payment was possible. Reznik simply chose to follow tradition, as was his right."

Bekim was beginning to understand, which made him angry. "But I would have gone anyway!" he exclaimed.

Geralt glanced at him. "His argument was that the village would be losing a worker. It was no matter to him how you felt about the situation, and there was no arguing with him. It's of no consequence now, Bekim. You'll begin your training as soon as we reach the fortress. If you do well, you will prove yourself far more valuable than any other payment we could have received."

Bekim clung to Solona's waist as they continued to ride and brooded over what Geralt had said. He thought that somewhere the spirit of his father might be watching and that bolstered his resolve. He decided he would do his best to make sure Geralt's prediction came true. He would prove himself more valuable than  _anything_  his village could have paid the Witchers. And someday maybe he would go kill monsters in that mine himself and prove it to them.


	20. Brothers and Wolves

Solona descended the winding stone steps from her room in the early hours of morning. The top of the stairs were open to her room at the summit of the tower and had once continued all the way to the first floor of the fortress, but a portion of the lower section had been destroyed in the siege from decades past. There were few enough Witchers remaining to manage the complicated repairs, so she had to take a rather circuitous route between her room and the rest of the castle. At the bottom of the serviceable section of staircase was a small landing with a short flight of steps that led directly up through an open archway into a large room. She stepped through into the sparsely furnished room that until recently had been empty save for a few chests being stored there. With the addition of Bekim, Geralt had felt the need to relocate, giving the boy his old room and taking the empty room that adjoined Solona's tower.

The remainder of the wing contained Bekim's room at one end of the hall and a library opposite what was now Geralt's room. Further down the hall was Vesemir's room and across from it were two large adjoining rooms that Geralt said belonged to Eskel and Lambert who they were expecting to arrive within the week, and at the far end was a large armory. Eskel and Lambert's rooms were large enough for barracks, Solona thought. Vesemir had told her that at one point there had been an entire additional wing of the castle just as large that had also housed Witchers, but that entire wing had been reduced to rubble during the siege, which had also cost the lives of almost all the Witchers who had been in residence at the time. Vesemir had been the sole survivor from the siege, any other Witchers surviving only by virtue of being absent. When Solona had asked for more details, Vesemir had only said, "Nothing incites people to violent, evil acts so much as fear and hatred. Any number of groups have fallen victim over the centuries. No one is ever safe from it, and least of all those that live their lives on the fringes as we do."

What remained of the castle had been repaired enough to make it livable, but was still a cavernous monolith so drafty that even lit fireplaces in every room barely warmed it on such a bitterly cold morning as this one. Solona could tell it had once been a grand structure with impressive architectural detail. Barrel-vaulted ceilings graced all the large rooms and intricate stained glass panes beautifully illuminated the interior from all the windows. The first floor even had a series of impressive murals painted on all the walls depicting ancient battles fought by the Witchers of old.

Solona shivered as she glanced around Geralt's room. There were few comforts to be seen. Just a simple bed and a nightstand upon which rested the grimoire next to a small oil lamp.  _Is he still reading that?_  she wondered briefly. There was large wardrobe next to a ragged mannequin in one corner that Geralt stored his armor on, and pegs on the wall upon which hung his sword belt and cloak. The hide of some unfortunate beast served as a rug on the floor by the bed.

His bed hadn't been slept in, Solona knew, because she had awoken in the pre-dawn hours to the feel of Geralt's solid weight beside her in her own bed, his strong arms wrapped around her. She had awakened like that for several nights in a row since they had returned, Geralt clad only in his breeches lying next to her above her blankets. She had fallen quickly back to sleep comforted by his presence each time, waking later in the morning alone again. She had no memory of him coming to her in the night and she knew nothing had happened between them, but she never questioned it. He had said they shared dreams but she had no memory of any besides the one very intimate dream during her trial. She wondered if the other dreams he said they shared had something to do with his occasional presence in her bed when she awoke.

It had been just over a week since they'd returned to the fortress with Bekim. She had to admit things had been much more comfortable between them since that night. Sleeping beside him again had made her realize that it wasn't really so hard to just be with him and not get wrapped up in  _wanting_  him. Those feelings were still there, but something about that night had made it easier to push them aside in favor of more rational yet caring feelings. She wondered briefly if the boy's presence caused them to unconsciously keep themselves in check more around each other. Maybe that was true to a degree, but if anything they'd grown more affectionate with each other than less so, with gentle touches and stolen kisses when they thought no one was watching. It was a new feeling for her and she thought she rather enjoyed it.

She found Geralt in the library with Vesimir and Bekim. Vesimir was giving the boy his morning reading lesson. She had been very surprised when she'd learned the boy could barely read. He seemed so bright and insightful in spite of the fact that he was clearly still grieving over the loss of his family. On the ride back to Kaer Morhen the previous week he had finally found the courage to begin asking questions, and once he started it had been a challenge to finally get him to stop. Geralt had laughed quietly and projected to her,  _It would be irritating if it didn't remind me of you a little._

"Are you ready?" she asked Geralt quietly when he looked up at her from where he was leaning against a tall bookcase observing the lesson. He nodded and turned to follow her down to the lab. It was time for her third mutagen.

"He seems to be doing well so far," Solona ventured as they walked. "He certainly has the drive to learn."

Geralt nodded and said, "He's a quick study, but he has a long way to go yet with his training. It will be a year or more before we can begin thinking about whether to put him through the Trial. Right now, he's a little prone to distraction, but no doubt that's due to the trauma he suffered. Of course the fact that he has a little crush on you doesn't help any," he said with a sidelong glance and a smile at Solona.

"A crush on me? You're joking, right?" she said with a look of astonishment. The boy had barely spoken to her the past week unless she asked him a direct question. She pondered that for a moment. Could she be that oblivious?

Geralt chuckled softly, "If I were a fifteen-year-old boy and your pretty backside was my first introduction to the body of a woman, I'd be smitten, too."

She snorted at him, "Forget fifteen - you can barely resist me now, and you're how old?"

"You leave my age out of it," he retorted. "Anyway, I'm convinced that your ass has magical properties," he said by way of excuse, giving the subject of their conversation a gentle squeeze that made her squeak softly in surprise and then elbow him in the ribs in retaliation.

When they reached the lab she walked over to the collection of small bottles and picked up the slip of paper wrapped around the third bottle. She read it for a second and murmured, "And the flavor of the day is... Hellhound. Yum. Charisma... does that mean it will make me prettier?" She turned and fluttered her eyelashes in mock seduction at Geralt.

He smiled indulgently and said, "Impossible." In a light tone he explained, "It will enhance the effectiveness of the Axii sign, but also makes people more susceptible to persuasion, even if you aren't actively casting a charm spell on them. It also increases your own resistance to charm effects."

"So how will I know whether it worked or not?" she asked as she uncorked the potion and gave it a wary sniff. She'd become a bit more cautious after the first experience, wanting to make sure she knew what she could expect before swallowing it. The previous week's potion had proved to be uneventful although extremely interesting. There had been few discernible effects upon drinking the frightener eye mutagen, but afterwards it had enhanced her eyesight to a surprising degree, even beyond what she'd experienced after her initial trials had ended. In the past week, her accuracy with a bow had finally begun to rival Geralt's, but she'd hardly believed him when he had told her that Witchers were still nowhere near as adept at archery as the Elves were.

Geralt shrugged at her, "I guess you'll just have to drink it to find out."

She walked to the center of the room, took a seat on the stone table and said, "Bottoms up!" before tossing back the potion.

Geralt stood nearby watching her. He could tell her power was growing at an alarming rate with each mutagen. He'd worked with many young initiates when they were going through the changes and had never witnessed the speed with which Solona's skills were increasing each day. He was just a little bit apprehensive at what would happen with this mutagen, especially after learning how close a psychic connection they had with each other. He made sure he had a strong mental barrier up in anticipation of whatever might occur.

He watched while she stared at the floor waiting, but nothing seemed to be happening. Finally she tilted her head up and met his eyes. In that split second he thought he saw her eyes flash with subtle light and his entire world seemed to rush in on itself, everything in his peripheral vision shattering into pieces leaving only her vividly beautiful figure floating before his eyes. He could see her lips moving  _(oh, her lips... those lips he longed to kiss)_  but couldn't hear the sounds coming from them. Some part of him knew she had him in thrall, and he struggled to break away.

"Geralt?" Solona asked, concerned. "Geralt!" she said more forcefully, hopping up from the table to stand in front of him. "Geralt, snap out of it!" she said and smacked him lightly on the face, then once more, hard enough to leave a reddening handprint behind. Finally he blinked his eyes rapidly and shook his head.

"Shit," he said softly, turning away from her abruptly. "You need to learn to control that, and fast."

"Well, you're my teacher... what do you suggest? I don't even know quite what I did."

"What were you thinking about just before you looked at me?" he asked, his voice rough.

She grew thoughtful and said, "Um... the potion felt... nice, actually. It made me feel like..." she sighed and shook her head when it came to her. "It reminded me of how it feels when you… ah... used to give me those  _fantastic_  orgasms. Or just afterwards, anyway, like an afterglow. That's what I was thinking when I looked at you just then."

He cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his trousers, then took a deep breath before turning around to face her again. He looked her in the eyes hesitantly, but she only had a gentle look of concern on her face and he sighed in relief when he remained in control of his motor functions.

"I didn't do it on purpose, you know," she said to him, concerned.

He laughed softly and said, "I know. I had a mental barrier up just in case, but I admit my mind had wandered just briefly."

"So are you saying we can't even  _think_  about sex now?" she asked, skeptically.

"No, nothing like that. I just think we need to be mindful of what we're thinking when we're near each other. And I definitely need to work on my own mental defenses where you're concerned. See if you can do it again."

"Do what exactly?"

"Look me in the eyes again and try to... enthrall me like you did."

She shrugged at him and tried again, although she wasn't exactly sure what she had done. She sat back on the stone table and just held in her mind the memory of the sensation she had felt earlier, and then met his eyes. This time when she did, she felt a tiny surge of power erupt from her and he got the same semi-glazed look and his breathing quickened as it had a moment earlier. She could sense him struggling for a moment to regain control and waited to see what would happen. Finally he came back to his senses and shook his head. He let out another deep breath and said, "Whoa... you are... incredible."

"Can't you do the same thing?" she asked, recalling a night weeks past when she had been similarly enthralled by him in the inn in Ard Carraigh.

He seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Maybe our defenses are just weaker against each other. With other people it only works with the sign and even then not to the same degree. Did it feel the same to you that time?"

"Mostly," she said, "But I think I know how to control it now."

"Okay, let's try again. Show me what you've got."

She grinned back at him and without delay shot him a powered glance, but deliberately held back half the power this time. She could see it affect him, but only for a split second before he shook his head and smiled at her.

"Better that time?" she asked.

He nodded at her and studied her intently for a moment. "There's just one more thing I need to try," he said, his voice growing deep with intent. He stalked towards her and stopped directly in front of her where she sat on the table, her slightly spread leather-clad thighs on either side of his legs. She felt her heart speed up at the sudden closeness of him when he placed his hands on her shoulders. He bent his head slowly, as though he were about to kiss her, and she closed her eyes in anticipation, uncertain but thinking to herself it was just a test... and she liked these kinds of tests. She felt one of his hands slide up to grip the back of her neck, placing his thumb along her jaw. He tilted her head up and his hot breath gusted against her mouth for a second.

And then abruptly he was gone.

She opened her eyes and blinked in confusion only to see him walking away from her and out of the lab. She groaned softly to herself thinking she should have known something like that was coming. Ever since she'd thrown him in the water that day after their fight with the kikimores he'd been evening the score with subtle little stunts. It had begun that same night with his icy cold hands on her bare skin just after she'd so graciously offered to share her own warmth with him. Then one day after they'd returned she'd fallen asleep in the bath after a long day of training, and he'd snuck in and stolen her dry clothes  _and_ all the towels so she was forced to run back up to her room stark naked and dripping wet, past a very surprised Bekim who was cleaning up in the kitchen, only to find Geralt reclining on her bed and grinning at her smugly. At least he'd been kind enough to start a fire in her room, but he still sat gloating and watching her while she dried off and dressed amidst a barrage of curses at him.

She projected a thought forcefully to him,  _I apologized for throwing you in the water last week, in case you've forgotten! … Ass._  She heard low chuckling echo down the corridor and then in her head came the words,  _Proof that it doesn't always take a spell to enthrall someone. Anyway, I think we can call it even now._

She smiled to herself and followed in Geralt's echoing footsteps. They had a long day of training ahead of them. He had insisted that she take over Bekim's combat training, arguing that she knew the techniques and forms, and that the process of teaching someone else would improve her own skills. She had reluctantly agreed, more for the chance to get to work with the boy and hopefully encourage him to overcome his shyness towards her.  _Or his crush, if that's what it is,_  she thought as she headed up to her room to change into warmer clothes.

* * *

The drab light of the day was diminishing and the shadows growing longer as Geralt and Solona faced off in the training yard for their final match, each grasping tightly to a solid wooden staff. They circled each other slowly, Geralt watching Solona's stance and footing with a critical eye. He brought his eyes back up to her face and couldn't help but smile at her appearance. She had a wide black scarf swathed around her head to fend off the bitter cold in the air and only her slitted golden eyes were visible amidst the layers. She'd also dressed herself in several layers of clothing, the outermost garment a loose-fitting tunic woven from knobby light grey wool and gathered at the waist by her thick leather belt. Apparently winters in her world were much milder than the Northern Kingdoms.

Their staves met with a series of loud cracks as they began to spar in earnest, Geralt calling out critiques as they danced around each other, their weapons blurring through the air.

Bekim sat wearing his father's coat and scarf, observing from the stone steps nearby and nursing at the blisters on his palms, the rewards of his own training from earlier that day. Lusa lay beside him watching the fight intently. One day he'd be that good, too, Bekim thought. He wondered how many layers of skin he'd go through before that happened and winced as he plucked at his injuries.

"Don't worry at them, boy, you'll only make it worse," Vesemir reprimanded as he approached from the stable yard. Both Lusa and Bekim turned their heads in unison towards the old man's voice. Vesemir and two other men were strolling towards the fortress steps where Bekim sat. Lusa hopped up with an excited "woof!" and ambled over to inspect the new arrivals, sniffing at them inquisitively. Bekim stared at the two men, his teeth idly chewing on the small piece of skin he'd just bitten off his thumb before spitting it out. They were Witchers, he could see from their eyes, and he watched curiously as they strolled towards where he sat.

"I thought we were finished recruiting, Vesemir," the shorter of the two men commented in a smooth voice. The man was young and fair-skinned with dark brown hair pulled back in a half pony-tail. He had a series of faint pink scars down the right side of his forehead and spilling onto his cheek. "I figured Witchers were a dying breed... what made you change your mind?"

The old man snorted, "It wasn't my doing. Wolf seems to like bringing home strays for some reason." He glanced at Bekim and said, "No offense, boy." Bekim shook his head and his eyes flicked to the larger of the two men, his gaze lingering on the long, ragged scar that marred the entire right side of his face from forehead to chin. The man hadn't spoken yet, but now let out a low, deep rumble of laughter.

When the larger man spoke, his voice was deep and gravelly, "You wouldn't think he had such a soft heart to look at him, but that's Wolf for you." He stepped towards Bekim and extended a large gloved hand amiably in greeting, "I'm Eskel, and who might you be?"

"B-bekim," Bekim said and stuck his hand out to be grasped in the bone-cracking grip of the other man. He winced and then flexed his fingers gingerly when Eskel finally released his hand. The smaller man stepped forward with an extended hand and introduced himself as Lambert. Bekim gave his hand a wary glance and finally shook it, relieved when the man's grip was only firm and not crushing. The five of them turned back to observe the pair of fighters.

"He's talented, this new initiate, although maybe a little weak in the upper body. He's quick and has excellent balance, though." Eskel said appraisingly after watching the fight for several moments, then he asked, "Where did Wolf find him?"

Vesemir looked sidelong at Eskel and said, "It's a long story. You'll have to let Wolf tell it."

Bekim gave Vesemir a sharp glance and saw a look of mild amusement on the old man's face. Clearly these two men had no knowledge of Solona yet. He thought it would be pretty funny when they realized "he" was really a "she" and he smiled to himself, pleased to be in on the joke.

"And what about you, kid?" the large man asked Bekim. With a rueful tinge to his voice he added, "Not another child surprise, I hope."

Bekim hesitated and said, "Geralt and... ah... um, he took me as payment for a contract. B-but I volunteered, anyway. What's a 'child surprise'?"

Eskel waved his hand dismissively and glanced at Bekim's hands with a wry smile, "I see he's already begun the torture."

Bekim ducked his head shyly and shrugged, "I don't mind it much. It's fun mostly." Except for today, because Solona had taken over teaching him and so he'd been nervous the entire time and had made an utter fool of himself. But at least she'd been patient and nice to him the whole time.

There was a loud grunt and a thud from the training ring and Bekim noticed Lambert wince slightly in sympathy. He turned to look and saw Geralt flat on his back with Solona straddling him, her staff held solidly across his throat. She leaned down and seemed to whisper something in his ear. Geralt laughed wickedly and a second later had her disarmed and flat on her back with her hands pinned above her head.

Solona had no idea what he'd just done to turn the tables so quickly. She was sure she had him beaten, but here she was underneath him again. "You agreed to the stakes," he said in a gruff voice as she struggled ineffectually beneath him. He just ground his hips into hers making her flush hotter and wish she hadn't put on so many layers before fighting. She sighed in mock dismay and smiled up at him. "Fine, you win." He grinned triumphantly and tilted his head over hers, kissing her deeply.

By the steps Lambert and Eskel's jaws dropped. "Huh..." Lambert said bemusedly, "I admit that's a technique I'm not familiar with."

Vesemir cleared his throat loudly and called out, "Wolf!"

Geralt ignored the old man, preferring to linger over the kiss a bit longer until he heard Solona's voice clearly in his mind,  _I think we have company._  He pulled back from the kiss and looked into her eyes. She quirked an eyebrow at him and he turned his head to look over his shoulder. Seeing that they did indeed have an audience he smiled back down at her excitedly and stood up. He reached out a hand to help her stand and strode over to greet the other Witchers who had arrived.

"Eskel! Lambert! I was beginning to worry the two of you had fallen victim to Bruxas. Welcome back!" He grasped them each by the arm in greeting, followed up by hearty hugs.

"Wolf," Eskel said in greeting. "Are you going to introduce us to your new recruit?" He nodded slightly at the figure following behind Geralt.

Solona had brushed the dust off her backside and was striding slowly over to them. She unravelled the scarf from her head to reveal her prettily flushed face fringed by white curls that fluttered in the chill winter breeze. There were mild sounds of surprise from the new arrivals when she did so. She unfastened her belt and clutched the hem of her outer tunic, pulling it off over her head and giving everyone a flash of the smooth, white skin of her stomach where her lower layers were hiked up in the process. The remaining layers included her form-fitting soft leather armor that was laced snugly over a lighter silk tunic and revealed her unmistakeably feminine figure. She adjusted her clothing and refastened her belt, tying the heavy wool tunic by the arms around her waist, then draped her scarf over her neck just as she stopped before them and gave the new arrivals a bright, friendly smile.

Geralt turned to look at her with a smile, "Solona, I'd like you to meet my brother Witchers, Eskel and Lambert." He gestured at each man respectively.

The two men were struck speechless for a second as she stood there smiling at them. Finally Lambert burst out into laughter and said, "This is quite a surprise... a woman Witcher. Vesemir, you've been holding out on us!" The old man merely shrugged in response.

Eskel gave the younger man a backhanded smack on the arm and turned to Solona to say, "What Lambert means to say is 'hello, it's nice to meet you.' He sometimes forgets he wasn't raised by wolves. He may have turned out better if he had been." Changing the subject, he turned to Geralt and said, "Speaking of being raised by wolves, how's your memory lately? Had any more pieces come back to you since we last saw each other?"

Geralt nodded and replied, "As a matter of fact yes. There is quite a bit I need to tell the both of you, but you should get settled first. We'll talk over drinks later."

Vesemir gestured to Bekim. "Boy, go help them with their gear and get their horses stabled, then come in and help me with supper." Bekim nodded obediently and hopped up to follow the two men to their horses.

Solona gave Geralt an inquiring look as they walked back into the fortress, "Raised by wolves, huh? This sounds like a story I'd like to hear. Is that where you got your nickname?"

Geralt laughed softly, "Nobody was raised by wolves. I just had a bit of an encounter with a mother wolf and her pups when I was an initiate."

"Do tell." Solona looked at him with eyebrows raised, and sat patiently at the table in the main hall waiting for him to continue the story. He grabbed the bottle of White Gull and joined her with a pair of pewter mugs. He sat down with a sigh and poured them each a drink. He took a deep swallow before continuing.

"When I was an initiate, one of the first tests we had to undergo was a test of survival. Vesemir took me out into the wilderness several leagues from the fortress and left me with only a dagger and the clothes on my back. He said he'd return for me in thirty days."

Solona looked slightly shocked, "Thirty days? How old were you?"

Geralt sat quietly thinking, "Twelve years old, I think. Eskel was put through the test at the same time, but they'd taken him to a different place. Every test they put us through we went through together, save for this one."

"Well, clearly you both passed the test. What was it like being left in the wilderness for a month with only your wits and a sharp knife?"

Geralt laughed, "I was terrified at first. Vesemir had started a fire for me before he left, with the admonishment to keep it burning, but the next morning I woke up covered in snow and freezing to death and the fire was cold and dead. I just knew I had to restart it, and so I did. I knew I had to find food, too, so I ate what I could find. On about the third or fourth day I was out hunting for... pretty much anything I could catch... and came across a she-wolf caught in a trap. She nearly tore my head off at first, but I was able to calm her enough to help her, and she led me back to her den where she had a whole litter of pups crying to be fed. After that I would hunt with her at night and we would share our kills, and I would sleep in the den with the pups during the day. I must have appeared as a wildling when Vesemir returned at the end of the month to find me, wrapped in skins and sleeping with wolves."

Solona shook her head in amazement. "Did you keep one of the pups as a pet?" she asked.

He replied, "No... I wanted to, but I realized that they didn't belong inside the walls of a fortress any more than I did after going through that experience. Even now I find it confining whenever I have to stay indoors for extended periods. I'm most at home out there." He waved an arm expansively before him, his eyes focusing on a window across the room. Solona thought she understood him all too well.

She took a sip of the sweet, spicy liquor and savored the changing flavors that washed over her tongue and tingled as it flowed down her throat. She was beginning to feel the pleasant burn in her center that the drink gave her and she sighed contentedly. It was the perfect drink for a cold night.

There was a ruckus as the door opened and three figures loaded down with gear came through followed by the big dog who also appeared to be helping by carrying a large bag by its leather strap. Bekim carried his burden into the kitchen while the other two men carried theirs up to the second floor before returning several moments later to join them at the table. Geralt poured them each a drink and they toasted to old friends and new ones.

Eskel gave Geralt a serious look and asked, "Wolf, I have to ask, was Triss here recently?"

Geralt nodded, "She agreed to help with Solona's trials. I'm sorry to make her keep it from you, Eskel. I wanted to wait until you both were here before you found out about Solona."

Eskel hesitated and said, "So she wasn't here to see you..."

Geralt laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder, "Far from it, brother. She was just doing me a favor. Her heart clearly belongs to you, trust me."

Eskel appeared visibly relieved and said, "That does explain the state of my room now. I take it that's where she was staying?"

Solona said apologetically, "I suppose that's my fault. I sort of took over the tower before she arrived so she was forced to find alternate accommodations. Hopefully the changes she made weren't too drastic?"

The big man laughed a deep, rumbling laugh, "No, it's nice really, although a little more flowery than I'm used to. I'll take it up with her when she comes to visit at Midwinter."

Solona brightened up at that. "She's coming back to visit? Wonderful!"

Eskel laughed at her response and said, "She did promise me she would come if her duties allowed. She's a busy woman lately."

Lambert abruptly interrupted them with the burning question, "Wolf, are you going to tell us the story or do we have to beat it out of you? No offense, Solona, but who the hell are you and what have you done to our brother?"

Geralt gave the man a fierce glare and Solona thought he was about to punch the younger man for a moment, but his deep scowl faded after a moment and he sighed and topped off everyone's mugs. "Drink up. You'll need it to absorb all this," he said and then began the tale.

He started the story where his own acquaintance with her had begun, stating without preamble, "So I woke up in a bathtub with this beautiful sorceress who had just saved my life from a horde of poisonous spiny hystrixes." He was deliberately vague about the specifics of their time together but she noticed Eskel and Lambert exchange a knowing glance after studying her with interest.

After a few moments Solona noticed Bekim lurking in the doorway to the kitchen trying to hear the story and Vesemir repeatedly scolding him to return to his duties. Finally she beckoned to him and told him to sit while she went into the kitchen, whispering to Vesemir, "I've heard it all already, let him stay. I'll help with dinner."

She could still easily hear the retelling through the immense, open fireplace that separated the dining area of the main hall from the kitchen, and she smiled in amusement several times at Geralt's interpretation of their experiences together so far, and the events and circumstances that had led to her presence here. The other men were audibly shocked at the revelations concerning Witcher fertility and there was a brief interruption in the story until Vesemir settled the matter by explaining, "It wasn't for me to share until it became necessary."

"But Vesemir," Lambert argued, "Surely there are ways around the obvious drawbacks. We could have easily doubled our numbers by adding women to our ranks, even if it weren't possible to… procreate with with them."

Vesemir snorted at him and replied, "And be all the more hated for stealing young  _girls_  away from their families as well as boys? No, our traditions were best left as they were. Besides, you two both know what it's like trying to train young girls - not to mention living with them. Can you imagine having half our ranks filled with more Ciris?" That gave them pause and they reluctantly agreed with the old man, who nodded his head sagely and went back to cooking with a sympathetic glance at Geralt.

Once Geralt had completed his telling, Eskel said in a thoughtful tone, "That would explain all the talk of the White Queen coming that we heard in the villages on the way north."

Lambert laughed scornfully, "Prophecies are just more political rubbish spouted by the ruling classes to try to keep the people in line. I don't buy it, Wolf, and you're a fool if you do. Why else would Henselt try to kidnap her so he could _marry_  her?"

Geralt shook his head and replied in a tightly controlled voice, "I have no doubt that the true meaning of the prophecy may have been distorted to serve the purposes of the monarchs, but her story is true, as Vesemir will testify. Anyway, she has nothing to prove to you, Lambert. I only tell you this as a courtesy and ask for your support - as a brother."

"Well let me ask you this,  _brother_ ," Lambert retorted, " _What_  exactly is she queen of? Delusional sorceresses? Is she the queen of your  _cock_? She certainly seems to have you wrapped around her little finger from the sound of things. And here you've turned her into a Witcher no less, spilling our secrets to a perfect stranger!"

"Lambert," Eskel interjected, "Don't be an ass. Not ten minutes ago you were arguing for recruitment of female Witchers. And now you're against it?"

"Well the fertility issue at least was a plausible story. But this  _prophecy_? Get your head out of your ass, brother. It's bullshit. Who knows what her agenda really is."

Geralt's vision suddenly tunneled in on the other man and he leaped to his feet with his fists clenched and fire in his eyes, knocking the bench Bekim still sat on backwards and nearly upending the boy who was watching the situation escalate with fascination. But just as he began to reach out to grab Lambert by the collar a slighter figure appeared in his field of vision and yanked the man up viciously by the upper arm.

Solona's eyes bored into the young Witcher. Through clenched teeth she spat, "My only agenda is to see that my own world and yours aren't sucked into oblivion within the next century. If you'd seen the Archdemon, or even half of the other monstrosities I have within the last year alone you would understand. Don't. Fuck. With. Me.  _Brother._ " She shook him bodily in emphasis.

Lambert sneered at her. "Oh, I heard that ridiculous ballad Dandelion wrote about some poncey king and a dragon. Is that what you're talking about? How much did you pay him to write that, or are you the queen of his cock, too?"

Solona's fist abruptly connected with his nose with an audible crunch and her golden eyes flashed visibly with a subtle light. "You would do well not to cross me, Lambert. I can forgive you once because we only just met, but trust me, you _won't_  get another chance."

She threw him back onto the bench and he tumbled backwards into Eskel with a grunt. The larger man caught him and righted him, then handed him a rag to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. Solona shot him a final glare and stalked back to the kitchen, clenching and unclenching her hand.

Geralt stood glowering at the younger man for a moment where he sat with a bowed head holding the bloody cloth to his face. Lambert was quiet for a moment and then his shoulders began to shake softly. Geralt's brow creased and he blinked in confusion when he heard what was unmistakably laughter erupting from the other Witcher, growing louder and more unrestrained by the second.

Lambert finally tilted his head up and met Geralt's stare, "Oh, I do like her. She is exactly what you need, Wolf. And you should see your face right now. Hah!" He winced at a sharp pain that shot through his nose when he laughed.

Geralt scowled at him. "Don't tell me you were bullshitting about all that, Lambert, just trying to goad me into reacting."

The other man shook his head, "Not completely. Don't get me wrong, I  _am_  skeptical about the whole prophecy thing, but it clearly has some significance to her... did you see her eyes flash just now? It was the oddest thing, but in that second I caught a glimpse of her story and knew it for truth. I'm willing to give you two the benefit of the doubt after that, at least."

The bleeding seemed to have subsided and he tenderly tested his swollen proboscis. He winced. "But did she really have to break my nose to prove her point? Ow!"

Geralt had cooled off and sat down again, pouring them all refills of White Gull. He laughed softly and shook his head, saying, "Don't worry, I'm sure once she's cooled off she'll come fix it for you. You  _did_  deserve it - if she hadn't done it, I would have, so feel fortunate that she got to you first."

Lambert smiled faintly, "Well it's clear who her teacher was. I wouldn't hesitate to put money on her in a fight. And after watching how she dealt with you earlier today, she'll be putting us all to shame before long. How far into the changes is she?"

"Only three so far since she began them three weeks ago," Geralt replied. "And we're on an accelerated schedule. She needs to be done by Belleteyn if we're going to make it south in time for Midsummer."

Eskel stared at him in surprise and glanced towards the kitchen, then back to Geralt, "Three mutagens in as many weeks? And she's handled them well so far?"

"Better than that," Geralt said, clearly impressed, himself. "It's amazing how quickly she adapts to them. There was some kind of ritual she went through in her own world that apparently made her a perfect candidate for the mutations. It's almost like she was meant for it." He shot a pointed look at Lambert who merely shrugged at him in response.

Solona and Vesemir came in just then carrying platters of meat and vegetables and baskets of bread and set them upon the table. Bekim hopped up and gathered plates and cutlery from a cabinet and passed them out to everyone. Before she sat, Solona stood giving Lambert a stern glare for a moment. Finally he seemed to wither before her and shrugged at her sheepishly.

"If you apologize for being an ass, I'll fix that so you can actually taste your food," she waved a finger at his face.

He bowed his head and spoke in almost mock formality, "My Lady Solona, I sincerely apologize for being an  _ass_  to you earlier. Please, please repair my broken nose so I may humbly partake of the delicious meal you have so graciously prepared for us."

She snorted and sauntered over to him, her leather-clad hips swaying. She leaned down and grabbed him by the chin, her touch gentler than her expression let on as she inspected his nose, testing the break softly with her fingers. She caught his eyes drifting down her neckline and smirked, saying, "This might sting a bit," then she yanked his nose sharply until there was a soft crack and he cried out and blinked, tears coming to his eyes.

"That doesn't feel like healing magic to me," he grumbled. She shushed him and brushed her fingertips lightly over his now straightened nose, soft green light glowing beneath them as her magic fused the broken bones back together. When she stepped back he blinked up at her with raised eyebrows and wriggled his nose a bit, then gingerly squeezed it with his fingertips. He nodded at her in thanks and she nodded back, then went around the table to her place between Geralt and Bekim, squeezing Geralt's shoulder gently as she took her seat.

The meal passed with animated conversation that grew more boisterous as the evening went on and more drinks were poured. Geralt shared the recovery of his lost memories with the other Witchers and Geralt and Eskel spent a good deal of time happily reminiscing on their time as initiates.

Later, Geralt and Solona also learned from the new arrivals that King Henselt had taken a bride, the daughter of a minor noble, who was purportedly already with child. "So it looks like he'll get his heir after all," Geralt said smiling at Solona.

Sometime after the meal ended and the last drop of liquor had been drunk they found themselves alone at the table, Eskel and Lambert bidding goodnight and Vesemir insisting that Bekim do the cleaning up since he had gotten out of helping prepare the meal. Vesemir had also long since retired for the evening.

Geralt whispered softly to Solona as they sat nursing the last of the liquor in their mugs, "You never did show me what it was you did to fix Henselt's... problem."

She gave him a sideways smile and said, "Maybe all he needed was an expert's  _touch_ ," and tickled him lightly on the inner thigh.

"Mmm, yes," Geralt murmured in her ear. "That would certainly cure all  _my_  ills."

She laughed softly at him and stood up unsteadily. "It's time for bed I think. Oh, I'm going to hate life in the morning, though." She massaged her temple gently and began walking towards the staircase to the upper floors.

Geralt stood and followed closely behind. When they reached the door to his room, he opened it and waited for her to enter before following, closing the door softly behind them.

"Before you go up, let me give you something," he said, striding to the wardrobe in the corner and pulling out one of the lower drawers. He selected two small bottles from his box of potions and handed her one.

"Wives' Tears," he explained. "To sober us up. You should still drink plenty of water, of course - it won't alleviate the effects of dehydration, unfortunately."

She nodded gratefully and drank the potion, then handed the small empty bottle back to him, her hand lingering over his for a second, her gaze holding his steadily. She sighed quietly and turned, taking a few steps towards the archway that led to the staircase up to her room.

She stopped just inside the archway and placed a hand on the rough stone wall, growing pensive for a moment, then hesitantly she said, "Geralt..." She turned to looked at him where he still stood near his wardrobe with an attentive expression.

"I wanted to say this before, but we seemed to keep getting sidetracked this week... This is the first chance we've had to really just talk." She paused before continuing. "It was nice being out there with you again last week. Out under the stars, I mean. That night... I don't know if you feel it, but something's been different between us since that night. Different in a good way, I think."

He met her gaze steadily and a soft smile spread across his face. He just nodded at her and put his potion to his lips, taking it down in a single swallow.

Almost plaintively she said, "But I have to know why I keep waking up with you in my bed every morning... don't get me wrong, I  _like_ it... but you never stay."

He studied her for a moment and an air of worry began to shadow his expression. He strode over to her and rubbed her arm gently with one large hand.

"Solona," he began looking her in the eyes steadily, "Do you remember your dreams at all?"

She shook her head and met his gaze. "Not lately, no. You said we shared dreams sometimes but I haven't remembered my dreams since we were in Ard Carraigh... well, except for that  _one_." She smiled faintly at him.

"Doesn't that worry you?" he asked, his brows drawing together. "When we first met you told me you dreamed of the Old Gods pretty frequently, yet you don't remember the dreams now."

Her expression grew somber as she absorbed his comment. It had concerned her, but she had brushed it off as inconsequential since the visions she'd had during the trials, and after drinking the first mutagen. She thought it was just a side effect of the changes.

"I don't know... it is odd, but I wasn't particularly worried about it. But it sounds like you are." She gave him a questioning look.

"Solona, you have the same dream almost every night. I know because I have the very same dream, and you always wake crying from it. It's been happening on a regular basis ever since that night in Ard Carraigh. Do you remember the dream you had that night?"

She thought back and could vaguely recall a dream of standing on a mountaintop next to the dragon. Geralt was in the dream, too, but the rest was fuzzy.

"Are you saying you only sleep with me because of this dream?" she asked testily.

He shook his head, growing frustrated. He gazed off into the darkness of the tower behind her for a moment then met her eyes again, raising his hand up to lightly brush at the loose curls that cascaded down one side of her face.

"No. I come to you when you cry out, and I hold you until you're sleeping peacefully again. I stay because it feels so good to hold you, if only for a little while. Sometimes I fall asleep like that. I don't stay longer because I still fear my own impulses around you. But I find lately that it's the only time I can actually sleep."

She reached out and placed a hand gently on the soft fabric that covered his muscular chest, enjoying the heat of his body that radiated through it. Her eyes studied his intently for a second and quietly she said, "Stay with me tonight, Geralt. All night. Just one morning I'd like to wake up next to you for a change. I miss you."

He gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded, drawing her into a close embrace. He whispered in her ear, "Just for tonight." He held her for several moments before releasing her and letting her lead him by the hand up to her room.


	21. Midwinter, Part 1

The dream was a variation on the same sweet torture that had been visiting him for the past two weeks on the nights they spent together.

They're in the training yard in the heat of summer, the air thick and cloying, with heavy summer thunderclouds threatening from above. Their bodies are sweat soaked and dusty as they grapple with each other in the dust. He's shirtless and she wears only a sleeveless cotton tunic and a pair of lightweight trousers. They're both barefoot. Beads of sweat glisten on the lightly tanned skin of her chest above the low, unlaced collar of her shirt. He revels in her reaction when she bests him, pinning him and then straddling him, raising her arms to the sky and emitting a loud cry of triumph. As if in answer, the sky above opens up and releases a sudden deluge upon them, soaking them thoroughly and turning the dusty earth around them into dark mud. She sits atop him, back arched and head craned up to the heavens, drinking in the cool water as it washes over her, plastering her sheer tunic to her body. Her chest heaves as she catches her breath and her pink-tipped breasts are visible in stark relief as the fabric covering them becomes nearly transparent from the heavy raindrops soaking through. He sits up and embraces her, capturing her rain-moistened lips in his hungrily and pulling her back down atop him. He pushes her wet trousers down past her hips and she kicks them off and laughs a throaty laugh as he grips her bare, rainslick backside solidly in both hands. She sits up again and rips open his trousers, releasing his engorged sex. She strokes him once, twice, his rain slickened flesh throbbing beneath her touch. She raises her hips and teases his tip at her center, provoking a desperate moan from him before she takes him into her, the heat of her depths a shocking contrast to the cool water coating his skin.

The dream seemed to fade at that point, as it always did just before he awakened. He could feel his erection straining at his breeches and a light sheen of sweat covered his skin. She was always so warm to sleep next to and he thought that was the reason he dreamed of summer when they were together. One arm still embraced her and his hand had strayed to her breast in the night and was now gripping it gently through the lightweight nightshirt she'd begun wearing in deference to him.

He could tell she still slept, her breathing slow and even. He tried desperately to regulate his own breathing enough to focus until he could will himself into some semblance of control again before she awakened. The feel of the soft, pliant flesh of her breast beneath his hand didn't help, but he didn't dare move for fear of disturbing her sleep. And he was acutely aware of her bottom pressed against his groin. It was difficult to push the desire aside, but it was a small price to pay to be able to wake up beside her, and if past mornings were any indication it wasn't an insurmountable endeavor... just not very easy.

There was a loud crack of thunder outside and he could hear rain beating violently against the panes of the windows that circled her tower room. Her breathing changed almost imperceptibly as she began to awaken. Her body shifted slightly and her bottom inadvertently rubbed against him, sending a small jolt of pleasure through him. His grip on her tightened and he tilted his head down, his lips grazing her ear.

He whispered roughly, "Don't. Move."

She grew utterly still, painfully aware of his hand on her breast and his hard length pressed against her bottom. A low heat began to ignite between her thighs and she felt his breath hot on the back of her neck.

"Good morning to you, too," she said with a hint of humor in her voice, then she lay silent, listening to his regulated breathing. After several moments he let out a heavy sigh and she felt his grip loosen on her as he pulled away. She sighed softly with regret at the small distance between them, and turned over to face him.

He lay looking at her, propped up on one elbow, the blankets pushed down to his hips. His hair was mussed from sleep and he had crease marks from his pillow on one cheek. She smiled softly and reached up a hand to gently trace the small indentations.

Her expression changed to subtle concern and she said, "It's hard for you to stay with me, isn't it?"

He studied her for a moment and then shook his head. "If I didn't stay your dreams would return, and I would just end up here anyway."

"They're just dreams, Geralt. They're not going to kill me."

He focused on her thoughtfully for a few seconds and said, "They're dreams we share. That tells me they ought to be taken seriously. And you can't even remember them when you do have them. Solona, it's an issue that needs to be resolved. I can't tell you how because I don't know, but one thing I'm certain of is that the prophecy depends on it. If I could help you with it, I would."

Her expression grew serious. She pursed her lips for a second and asked, "How are you so sure it has anything to do with the prophecy?"

"If you remembered the dream you would know," he said.

She sighed and said, "As much as I hate to suggest it, do you think that maybe sleeping together is counterproductive? Maybe you need to let me have the dream alone for a change."

"Sleeping together  _was_ your idea," he said to her with a smirk.

"I know. And I  _like_  waking up next to you." Under her breath she said, "Even though the  _prince_  has other ideas most mornings."

Not missing a beat, Geralt replied suggestively, "He just misses the  _princess_. And I can tell she misses him, too." She felt a small pulse throb between her legs at his suggestion and watched him warily as he leaned closer to her and inhaled deeply through his nose.

He smiled at her wolfishly, "Mhmm... clearly I'm not the only one dealing with such an issue first thing in the morning. It's just easier for you to hide it."

She eyed the blankets that covered his hips, concealing his reawakened arousal. It was a vicious cycle, she realized. Their desire seemed to be magnified tenfold when it was apparent the other person was even remotely turned on.

She groaned and rolled her eyes at him, trying hard to ignore her own arousal. "I'm serious, Geralt. Maybe we should sleep apart for awhile... and not just because of the dream. But when I do have the dream? Maybe you should let it play out instead of coming to my rescue every time."

He seemed entranced as he continued to breathe deeply through his nose. She wasn't sure he'd heard her at first, then he nodded and focused on her again, his voice thick and distracted. "You're probably right."

"I'm sensing a 'but'..."

He leaned towards her, his eyelids drifting halfway closed. Just before his lips met hers she heard him say in a husky voice, " _But_... before I go, I want one last taste."

Her heart pounded as he gripped her jaw in one large hand and his mouth found hers, his tongue insistent as he plunged it between her lips. His hand trailed down her side and over her hip, pulling the blankets down and tossing them off her, exposing her bare thighs and the graceful swell of her hip covered only by a narrow band of snug white fabric.

His hand slid back up her bare thigh to the top of her hip as they kissed. He teased his fingertips along the waistband of her smallclothes, tracing the edge of the garment across her hip and around to the small of her back. His hand felt hot against her flesh as he slid it down over one full cheek and squeezed gently, then trailed his fingers lower, seeking out the bottom hem of the fabric just above the crease where her firm buttock met the top of her inner thigh. He slid his fingertips underneath the fabric and felt the soft fringe of ruff, and just beyond that the slick warmth of her core.

"Geralt," she breathed against his mouth when he pulled back from the kiss with heat in his eyes. She whispered breathlessly, "I don't think this is a good idea."

He slipped his fingers along her moist flesh beneath the strip of fabric that covered her center, teasing gently. He whispered in her ear in a low growl, "Are you saying you want me to stop?"

She answered with a soft moan and gripped the back of his neck in her hand, pulling his mouth back to hers. While their tongues danced, he slid his hand back over her hip and pushed her flat on the bed. He broke away from their kiss and trailed his lips across her jaw and down her throat, his hand making its way under her nightshirt and up to her breasts, teasing their tips until she moaned again. He pushed the thin garment up and kissed her navel gently before making his way lower, moving down her body and grasping the waist of her smallclothes as he went, dragging them down over her hips and thighs, slowly pulling them off past her feet. He slid his hands back up the insides of her legs, urging them apart, then descended on her as his hands gripped the backs of her thighs and pushed them up, giving him access to all of her. She let out a loud gasp as his tongue plunged deep inside her and then out again, seeking out the small nub of engorged flesh that he knew would send her into throes of ecstasy.

He had wanted to take his time, but a powerful surge of desire welled up in him when her taste and the tantalizing feel of her velvety, wet flesh hit his tongue, sending a series of jolts straight to his groin. The throbbing between his thighs became almost painful, and he realized belatedly that he'd just made a dangerous mistake as his desire began to overwhelm him. He gripped her hips tightly, his fingers digging into her flesh in a desperate effort to maintain his focus, his tongue working in the familiar pattern he remembered would send her over the edge. Her moans became breathless cries that he recognized as his name being repeated over and over, finally punctuated with a single loud, husky cry. He could feel her flesh quivering under his mouth and her thighs were shaking on either side of his head when he finally drew back from her.

He sat back before her, resting on his heels and trying to regain his bearings. He felt dizzy from the reaction his body was having to her. He closed his eyes and dug his fingers into his thighs, attempting to slow his breathing back down to a normal level. But he could still smell her desire and felt as though he were drowning in it. He emitted a low, guttural moan, frustrated at his inability to push the desire aside like he had on previous occasions.

He felt a soft touch on his bare arm and opened his eyes, struggling to focus. She knelt before him on the bed, her flushed face drawn with concern.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

He just twitched his head distractedly, still unable to articulate the conflicting feelings that had control of him. His mind was deadlocked between needing to push her back on the bed and bury himself inside her and needing to put as much distance between them as possible. He felt her fingertips brush against his bare, muscular stomach and heard her say in a low, suggestive voice, "You know... I could return the favor..."

He abruptly grabbed her hands tightly in his and clenched his teeth.

"No!"

He swallowed involuntarily and forced himself to focus on her face. With as much control as he could muster, he gripped her head in both hands, kissed her fiercely, and left the room in a blur.

* * *

After quickly dressing and throwing on his boots in his own room, Geralt ran down the stairs and out the front door of the fortress into the icy winter rain pouring down. He took several strides along one side of the castle and ran up a flight of stairs onto the battlements overlooking the valley below. He braced himself against the wet stone and raised his head to the sky, letting out a loud cry of agonized frustration, then just stood there letting the cold rain wash over him.

His mind was a chaotic knot of conflicting emotions made even more complicated by the seemingly instinctual reaction his body had to her. He had been able to manage it for her sake for the past two weeks, and they had spent several nights together, but until this morning neither of them had given into the desire. He found it ironic because his own slumber was easier in her bed for some reason... at least until the early hours of dawn when the tortuous dreams would come and he would inevitably awaken bound up with desire for her. At least her sleep hadn't been disturbed by her usual dream, which had been some comfort to him.

But this morning... faced with the prospect of being deprived of her warm body next to his each night, he'd made a poor decision. He'd had no idea what the consequences would be when he gave in, thinking only that he wanted to pleasure her and what harm could it do? But it had ultimately taken all his control not to take her bodily while she lay there open to him. He felt heat rising in him in spite of the icy rain that cascaded over his body, soaking through the thin shirt he wore. He pushed the thoughts aside with fierce determination and attempted to focus his mind on something else. Anything else. Eventually the cold rain soaking into him caused him to grow numb and he welcomed the lack of feeling with an odd relief.

It seemed like hours passed as he stood there in the chill rain, watching a thick mist gradually blanket the river valley below the castle. He was just beginning to shiver when he sensed a figure approaching him and felt a heavy oiled leather cloak being thrown about his shoulders and a hood pulled onto his head to protect him from the cold rain. He glanced to the side to see Eskel's large, cloaked figure standing silently beside him, gazing out over the river valley below them.

The other man just stood quietly for a time. Finally Geralt broke the silence, saying, "I never thought I would curse our condition, brother, but sometimes I fear I won't make it to Midsummer without either giving in or going mad... and giving in isn't an option."

Eskel turned to look at him, the scarred side of his face obscured in the shadows of his hood as the rain fell over him. "It's really that bad for you?" he asked in his deep, resonant voice.

Geralt clenched his fists and released them, then turned to his friend, "She's only halfway through the changes. Every week it gets more difficult... every step closer she gets to being a full-fledged Witcher. I've been able to meditate to maintain the focus I need to restrain myself, but this morning... she smelled so good, and I just  _wanted_..." his voice trailed off and he sighed with a small shake of his head. "I was stupid."

He continued in a desperate tone, "I never would have believed it would be so difficult to manage my desire for one woman, Eskel. And I never believed I would ever love anyone more than Yennefer. But here she is... this beautiful young creature who makes me laugh, makes me think... she challenges me every step of the way. It infuriates me to no end but I wouldn't change a thing about her. I love her so much it hurts sometimes."

The larger man laughed softly, "It is a cruel joke that we can go our entire lives believing we're infertile. Then just when you realize she's the one you truly want, the knowledge comes with the caveat that you can't touch her without risking everything."

Geralt nodded with a sigh. "She was already like us to begin with... cursed with an overactive appetite. I fear the changes have magnified her desires as much as my own. I  _have_ to find a way to manage this...  _hunger_. Nothing I've experienced could have prepared me for her."

He grew quiet and they stood together in the steady rain for some time before Geralt spoke again.

"When is Triss due to arrive?" he asked.

Eskel smiled and said, "She already has. Late last night sometime. All I know is I woke up with her in my bed this morning. It was a pleasant surprise."

"Good... maybe Triss will distract her long enough for me to regain some semblance of sanity." Geralt laughed ruefully.

Eskel nodded and said, "I'll mention it to her."

"Do you love her?" Geralt asked out of the blue a moment later.

Eskel turned to study his friend for a moment before replying huskily, "More than I can convey in words, Wolf."

Geralt gave his friend a nod and said, "Good. If you had said anything different I might have had to hurt you. But if you love her as you say, why didn't you stay with her in Vizima? Why even come to Kaer Morhen for the winter?"

Eskel turned his gaze to the flooded river valley below them and sighed. "You know Triss. She keeps a high profile as advisor to the young queen. I would just get in her way and would make things difficult for her if I stayed. Besides, the distance makes our time together all that much sweeter. And Kaer Morhen is still home to me. Plus, I think she likes coming here for some strange reason."

Geralt believed he could understand, but he and Solona had barely spent a day apart since they had met three months earlier. Had it really only been three months? It seemed like a lifetime already and he couldn't begin to imagine what kind of desolate ruin his world would be without her.

After a pause, Geralt asked tentatively, "Eskel... if the two of you were living in the same castle and you couldn't touch her, how would it affect you?"

Without hesitation, Eskel turned to face him and said, "It would drive me mad, brother."

* * *

Something strange was in the air, but Bekim couldn't put his finger on exactly what was wrong. Nobody had told him things were different today, so he made an effort to go along as though it were the same routine as all the other days in the month since he had begun living here and training to be a Witcher.

But clearly everyone in the castle was out of sorts this morning and there were conflicting signs as to whether it was good or bad. The first clear indication was Vesemir's tense reaction to the noises echoing down from the tower when Bekim had come in from feeding the animals. He had stopped to listen while he stirred the pot of porridge over the fire and had to hastily turn away from the old man, his bright flush not the only physical reaction he had to the sudden realization that he was hearing Solona's cries of ecstasy... no doubt caused by Geralt. But the last thing he had expected was to see Geralt storming down from the tower with a look of veiled panic on his face and running out into the thunderstorm without so much as a raincloak.

Then there was Lambert entering the hall with a sour expression, muttering something about noise that Bekim didn't completely catch. Vesemir just snorted at the younger man and cast a concerned glance at the front door. Solona had just seemed tense and worried when she finally appeared a few moments later.

Eskel's bearing when he entered was what had thrown him. The large Witcher seemed oddly placid and was smiling, which was at odds with everyone else's mood. But it changed abruptly when Vesemir beckoned to him and whispered something in his ear. Eskel glanced at the front door and nodded before preparing two servings of breakfast and carrying them back upstairs.

Some things started making more sense about an hour later when Eskel returned to the first floor wearing his raincloak with another slung over his arm. He was followed closely by a pretty redheaded woman who greeted Vesemir and Solona with warm embraces. Bekim stood watching her, dumbstruck for a moment. Eskel had spoken of the woman often in the past two weeks and Bekim had known she was intending to spend Midwinter with them.  _So that's Triss..._  he thought, and wondered why in the world he was so surprised.

He was still confused about how Witcher relationships worked. He'd heard that they were indiscriminate with sex and liked to pick random virgins from villages to sate their desires with. He'd also heard they preferred whores to normal women and that they were infertile so that was why they didn't bother holding their insatiable sexual appetites in check. But if his own experience was any indication, both stories were far from the truth. So far two of the Witchers he'd come to know were clearly devoted to two of the most beautiful women he'd seen in his entire life, and the feeling was obviously mutual.

After hearing Geralt and Solona's story he knew Witcher infertility was a lie, and sounded like a cruel trick nature had played on the two of them. He couldn't help but think if Solona were  _his_  he would have a hard time staying away from her, and it suddenly dawned on him what might have prompted Geralt's strange behavior this morning. For once, Bekim didn't envy the older man.

But the strangeness continued after Triss broke away from her hug with Solona. Bekim saw her expression grow rigid briefly as she looked across the room. When he turned to follow the direction of her gaze, he saw Lambert escaping out the door back to the second floor without even giving her so much as a 'good morning'.

* * *

Solona entered the armory after breakfast and greeted Lambert with a small distracted smile.

The young Witcher glanced at her from where he stood at the weapon rack, idly inspecting the state of the practice blades that rested there.

"You seem distracted this morning, Sol. Anything you need to talk about before we add deadly weapons to the mix?"

She snorted at him and said, "I wasn't the one escaping when a certain redhead entered the room... anything  _you_  want to talk about, Lambert?"

He shrugged evasively. "Triss and I just don't get along. I find it's easier if we're not around each other for too long."

Solona nodded at him skeptically. "I always thought Witchers had stronger wills than that. To let such a little thing get to you..." Her expression grew pensive for a second before she continued. "I suppose Witchers aren't as resilient as they tend to let on."

He gave her a rueful smile, "No... we are still mostly human in spite of what our genetics might tell you. You're thinking about Geralt, aren't you? Did something happen that you want to share?"

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Not particularly, but thanks for asking."

Lambert gazed at her steadily, seeming to see through her aloofness. The young Witcher had become an unexpected friend to her over the past two weeks and she'd found it strangely easy to share her thoughts and feelings with him during training. He had the same irreverent sense of humor as she had and they would laugh together at the most inappropriate things, leaving the other members of the household confused. She thought it might have something to do with his apparent youth, even though she learned that he was nearly 50 years older than she was in spite of how young he appeared.

She finally gave in. "Okay, fine. Something happened this morning and I don't regret it in the least, but I think Geralt does. But it probably complicated our situation a little. And knowing him, he'll most likely avoid me completely for a month before he'll actually talk to me again. And I hate it."

He gave her a look of amused concern and asked, "What exactly did you do? Geralt's a pretty level-headed guy... I can't imagine it would have been that big a deal..."

She sighed heavily, "It wasn't something I did. You know about our  _issue_. And whether or not you believed the story, it's true. I... being near him…" She sighed with exasperation again.

After a pause she finally gathered herself and continued, "I have bad dreams if he's not next to me at night. But when he does sleep with me, he always wakes up in such a state... hmmm."

Lambert raised one eyebrow at her expression. "And...?"

" _And_... well... so do I," she stated quietly. "It's hard being that close to him and not being able to..." she sighed again.

"Not being able to consummate your relationship?" Lambert offered.

"Exactly!" she said with vehemence. "And this morning... I suggested it might be easier if we stopped spending the night together."

Lambert shrugged at her as though that point were obvious.

"But he was  _very_  insistent about having one last... taste..." Lambert watched with a raised eyebrow as Solona's face grew flushed at her recollection of earlier events.

"And...? Don't leave me hanging, Sol! You're just getting to the good part." He grinned at her mischievously.

She sighed in exasperation. "I'm leaving that part out... it was amazing, as always. But afterward he seemed like he was in a trance. It was … strange. But I thought if I offered to return the favor..." she sighed again and said, "And then he just left! He kissed me... then ran."

Lambert laughed out loud and said, "And now he's having a crisis because your pretty mouth would have been just a  _tease_  for what he really wanted. You've destroyed the poor man, Sol."

She stared at him, her mouth agape, and said, "But... it wasn't  _my_  fault! He started it! I didn't even offer until after he'd already... and it's not as if I could say no to  _that_. He's very,  _very_ good at it, you know."

Lambert broke into unrestrained laughter at her internal struggle. "That explains the noise I woke up to, at least. I had no idea you were so  _enthusiastic_. You know sound carries quite well down that tower, don't you?"

She stared at him with a shocked expression and then punched him hard on the shoulder in a frustrated attempt to knock the silly grin off his face.

He held up a hand to ward her off, saying, "Sol, really. For Witchers, that kind of thing is only foreplay. Geralt should have known better, but under the circumstances I'm not surprised he did it. Speaking from experience, we need more a more  _in-depth_ experience to be satisfied. And if Geralt's explanation of the prophecy is true, he needs it even more... from you, anyway. It makes me wonder lately if we weren't actually meant to reproduce. The desire is almost instinctual, like we have a genetic imperative to impregnate women. But Geralt's 'instincts' only pertain to you."

She gave him a dejected look and said, "So you're saying if we can't fuck, we shouldn't even touch each other?"

"No, clearly it's fine as long as it's controlled. I've seen the two of you over the past two weeks and neither of you has exactly been holding back with your affections. None of that led to this. The only thing that Geralt did wrong was taking matters into his own hands this morning. He's the one who crossed the line. Don't blame yourself, Sol."

"Shit," she cursed softly just as Bekim entered the room. The boy raised his eyebrows at her curiously and she waved her hand at him dismissively. They'd been training together with Lambert for the past two weeks, so Bekim was used to her casual cursing by now and was also privy to most of the uncouth jokes she and Lambert shared. They were probably a terrible influence on him, but there hadn't seemed to be any adverse effects so far, and he'd finally seemed to relax and open up around her on occasion.

With both of his students present, Lambert's demeanor abruptly turned serious. If there was one thing Solona could admire about the young Witcher it was that he didn't waste time during training.

* * *

She didn't see Geralt at all for the rest of the day, but could sense him lurking about the castle. Otherwise the tension seemed to have subsided for the most part, especially with the arrival of Triss. Eskel seemed transformed by the woman's presence, and was clearly unable to stop smiling, even when Triss left the room. There was an air of excitement that her arrival had brought with it. Midwinter's Day was the following day and it surprised Solona how much the general mood in the castle changed in anticipation.

Even Vesemir shed his normally stodgy attitude, and when there was finally a brief respite from the rain he dragged everyone out to gather greenery. Geralt's absence was acutely felt as they hiked through the woods to a large grove of evergreens nearby and began hunting for likely victims for decorating the main hall of the castle. They returned several hours later, overladen with bundles of aromatic boughs, with Eskel and Lambert taking turns dragging a huge fir tree behind them. Lusa was ecstatic when the group started singing as they made the trek, and the group returned to the castle with everyone in a rambunctious and spirited mood.

Geralt had apparently been busy while they were gone. The fires were well stoked and the smells of roasting meat and baking bread washed over them when they entered the main hall. But he was conspicuously absent now and Solona was growing increasingly frustrated. She finally decided to go find him herself if he wouldn't come to her to talk about their morning.

After a brief search, she finally found him in Lambert's room, seated on a chair and methodically cleaning and oiling his gear. He tensed and sat staring at the floor for a moment when she entered the room through the open doorway. She could see him take a deep breath and let it out slowly before he tilted his head up to look at her.

"You can't avoid me forever, you know," she said in a gentle voice, gazing at him intently.

Geralt suddenly felt intoxicated by her presence. The mere sound of her voice had caused an involuntary shiver to cascade down his spine and his sex became alive in response until he took a deep breath and willed himself back into control. He looked away from her abruptly, fixing his gaze on the narrow window nearby.

"I know," he said huskily, his voice tense and strained. "I just... need to limit my time around you. You have no idea how close I came this morning to..." He sighed and glanced at her again. "You know we can't risk it, Sol. Not until the ritual."

"Geralt," she began in a pleading voice but halted when she glanced around the room and recognized that these were all  _his_  things in here, not Lambert's. She felt an icy chill growing in her belly at the realization.

"I see," she said. The tone of hurt in her voice made his heart ache and he longed to stand up and go to her, to hold her in his arms and comfort her, but he knew better than to try. And he knew there was nothing he could say to her right now that would help her understand any better. She would have to come to the conclusion on her own that he had done the right thing.

There was a wrenching sensation inside him as she turned wordlessly and walked back out the door, slamming it behind her. He sat very still, struggling to keep from crying out in frustration over their situation.


	22. Midwinter, Part 2

He awoke in the dark of night covered in sweat and acutely aware of her distress. The dream had come again, as he thought it might without him beside her. He lay back down in the small, hard bed and covered his face with his forearm. The memory of her face from the dream haunted him still. He could see her standing across the vast chasm, desperate to get to him but unable to. The large wolf beside him paced back and forth in agitation, and the dragon that rested beside her on the other side of the chasm trumpeted and flapped its wings in frustration. He could clearly see the tears streaming down her face tonight. He didn't remember her ever crying in the dream before.

He finally gave up on sleep after laying in the darkness for some time and got up to try meditating instead.

When he roused himself from his meditations at dawn, there was a deep hush that seemed to permeate the entire world. The fire before him had burned down to a few weakly glowing coals, and he was only aware of his own breath visible in the chill morning air. There seemed to be no other sounds, until he reached out with his senses and was able to discern the breathing of the other people in the castle, but the outside world was utterly still.

He stood up slowly and pulled a wool tunic over his head, then strode to the window, pushed it open, and looked out. He blinked his eyes quickly to adjust to the brightness of the thick blankets of snow that covered everything in the world outside the castle. It took his breath away and brought up a surge of memories from the winters he'd spent here during his youth. He hadn't felt those memories in so long and the nostalgia gave him the sudden urge to find Eskel and reminisce as they used to.

She was still sleeping, he discovered after a quick and tentative reach from his mind to hers. He decided he would make every effort to be present today, for her. He finished dressing and headed down to the main hall.

Delicious aromas assaulted his nose as he walked through the kitchen door. Vesemir and Bekim were busy with breakfast and both seemed to be in jovial spirits.

"Glad you decided to join us, Wolf!" Vesemir said enthusiastically. "Midwinter Day wouldn't be the same without you."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Vesemir," he replied with a smile, and rolled up his sleeves to help with breakfast.

The others trickled down slowly over the next hour. When Solona entered the kitchen, Geralt's heart skipped a beat and he briefly questioned his own judgement, but she seemed to barely react to him. She seemed different this morning... worn out and dejected. When she finally did look at him all he saw was the same hurt and confusion in her eyes from the night before.

After breakfast, they all went to the main hall for the traditional tree-lighting. Triss heroically attempted to bolster Solona's mood and convinced her to participate. The tree stood nearly twelve feet tall in the center of the hall and had small globed candles perched around all its branches. Vesemir spoke a short rhythmic chant to begin and they all joined in, then between the six of them casting quick little spells, they methodically took turns lighting the candles on the tree from bottom to top. The final candle at the top was much larger and the five of them lit it in unison. The effect was breathtaking and they all gazed at it in wonder for several moments. Then they whooped in joy and the Witchers joked with each other about how they managed to survive the ceremony without setting the tree on fire. Bekim had stood in awe as he watched them and began instantly asking questions.

"What's that ritual for, Vesemir?" Bekim asked with intense curiosity. Vesemir glanced at the other Witchers briefly before answering.

"Midwinter is the first day of Yule, when the dead are more likely to walk among us. During this time the King of the Wild Hunt and his wraiths are out in force, recruiting the ghosts of the dead to add to their ranks. The spell is meant to protect against the Wild Hunt, to keep the wraiths at bay."

The boy's eyes grew large as he took this in. "They would come here? But they just want the dead, right, so we would be safe wouldn't we?"

"They recruit the spirits of those who have fallen in battle, but they would still engage the living in combat," Vesemir said soberly.

"But... they're all ghosts! How do you fight a ghost?"

"With steel and magic," Geralt said, his voice as cold as ice. "But they aren't all ghosts. The King who leads them is an Aen Elle. An elf from the old kingdom." He exchanged a quick glance with Solona for the first time that morning and she understood immediately what the look meant. Tonight they may get to meet the King of the Wild Hunt. Geralt didn't appear to be looking forward to the reunion, but she felt a surge of excitement at the prospect. A real fight would do the two of them some good, she thought.

Vesemir finally distracted the boy from his questions, sending him back to the kitchen to fetch mulled wine for everyone. Once he'd passed out the drinks, they took turns exchanging gifts.

Solona and Geralt barely looked at each other throughout the process, instead focusing on the other members of the group and sharing in the joy of their gifts. The gifts were modest and unremarkable for the most part: a collection of teas for Vesemir, a bottle of fine liquor for Lambert, a set of pretty hair combs for Triss.

Solona handed Vesemir a small, rectangular shape wrapped in parchment and tied with ribbon. When he opened the gift, it turned out to be a rather ragged looking book that appeared singed around the edges. He looked at it curiously.

"The Search for the True Prophet," he read from the cover and looked at Solona with eyebrows raised in interest.

"My friend Wynne gave it to me before I left to come to this world. I think you'll find the story interesting... it reminds me of what you've told me of the prophetess Ithlinne's story." She gestured at the burned edges and said, "It was nearly destroyed for its subversive subject - it suggests that Andraste, the Maker's Chosen, was in fact a powerful sorceress and not the bride of the Maker as most had believed."

He began nodding with growing interest at her description and said, "Hmm, thank you! That does sound interesting." He instantly began perusing the first few pages of the tattered book.

Then she gifted Bekim with a dragonbone dagger that she'd had for the past year but hardly ever used. The boy was utterly humbled by the gesture and stood flushed while he gazed in awe over the intricately wrought blade.

Bekim reluctantly pulled a small wrapped parcel from his pocket and handed it to her. When she unwrapped it she stared raptly at the small carved figurine. It was carved from some kind of black stone, which she recognized as the same stone that came from the mine in his village. He had painstakingly carved it into the shape of her dog, but not in one of his nobler moments... one hind leg was stuck solidly in the air and his head was between his legs. She laughed out loud.

"Bekim, I love it! It's perfect!" She bent down and showed it to Lusa, who sniffed at it for a moment then snorted disdainfully before settling down to mock the artistry by showing how it should really look. She gave Bekim a quick peck on the cheek which only made his flush deepen.

When the gift giving appeared to be complete, Lambert announced, "Training is outside today. And I expect  _everyone_  to be there." Heads turned to look at him with surprise. He shrugged and said, "Just consider this my gift to you all." He grinned deviously.

Solona retreated to her room to bundle up. She'd seen the thick blankets of snow from her window when she'd awakened and it had looked cold. She had hoped for a quiet day to sit inside by the fire, but clearly Lambert had other ideas. But the truth was that she needed a distraction from her thoughts lately, so she was looking forward to it.

When she opened her wardrobe to pull out her heavy cloak, she paused for a second and reached for the small cloth-wrapped bundle that lay at the bottom of the cabinet. She picked it up and opened it gently, looking down at the pair of dragon hide gloves she'd made for Geralt from a piece of the leather she'd brought with her for the purpose of repairing her own armor. She'd spent the last two weeks working on them with Vesemir's help and was proud of the final result, and had hoped that Geralt would be pleased. She had planned to give them to him today, but current circumstances had made her think it might be better if she waited. She re-wrapped them and set them gently back in the bottom of her wardrobe.

* * *

She was bundled to the gills when she finally exited the fortress into the training yard. The bright sunlight reflecting off the blankets of snow was almost blinding. It was warmer than she'd expected it to be, and there was a bright blue sky above them. Her leather-booted feet crunched across a path of snow that already showed the signs of traffic from the others. Lusa bounded ecstatically up to her, his dark snout covered in white dust. He licked at her gloved hands enthusiastically and then bounded off again, unable to stay still for longer than a second. She laughed at the big dog's elation.

"Finally, the last contestant arrives," she heard Lambert call out at her arrival. When she walked cautiously down the steps to the training yard she could see they'd been busy. There were two low walls built of snow at opposite ends, and everyone seemed to be busy building an arsenal of snowballs on either side of them.

"We'll split into teams. Geralt, Triss, Vesemir, Eskel on this side. Me, Sol, Bekim, and Lusa on the other. If you get hit by a snowball, you make snow angels. Last team with a man - or woman -  _or dog_  - still standing wins. Best three out of five. Understood?"

Solona grinned. This sounded fun. She trotted over to her team and crouched behind the wall, grabbing up a handful of snow and compacting it into a large snowball. Lusa seemed distracted by plowing up the snow nearby with his snout.

"Lusa!" she called in a loud whisper and he trotted to her obediently. "When they throw snowballs, you catch them in your mouth, can you do that?" He woofed at her in the affirmative.

Lambert stepped behind the wall and crouched down, beckoning to the others. "Okay, here's our strategy. They're all bigger and slower... well, mostly. We have size and quickness on our side. And a big dog." He grinned. "For the first volley, spread out and go for the big ones, try to take them out, and don't get hit!"

He called out a short countdown and yelled, "Charge!" in a fierce, bloodthirsty yell.

Solona tumbled quickly to the side with a snowball in each hand. She came up on one knee and threw hard at the largest figure in her field of vision, taking Eskel squarely in the chest as he began throwing at someone else behind her. He looked down at his chest and let out a gasp, dropping dramatically to the ground and flapping his arms and legs in the snow.

Solona turned to look for a new target and switched her lone snowball to her other hand. She heard a loud bark and turned abruptly to see Lusa launch into the air and snap a soft, white projectile out of the air, his teeth coming together in a sharp crack. She hurled her snowball back in the same direction, nailing Vesemir just above the breastbone. The man fell down in a puff of soft snow and lay there laughing.

Lusa was darting back and forth, adeptly dodging snowballs and snatching them out of the air before they could hit his teammates. Solona turned to take stock of their situation and saw that Bekim was down, but she and Lambert were still up, as were Triss and Geralt. Three to Two. Those were good odds.

"Reload!" Lambert called and they all ran to their respective arsenals to grab more snowballs.

"Stay behind Lusa," Lambert gasped out when they were reloading. "He's our best advantage right now."

"Of course," Solona grinned back at him

They rolled back out and held their ground behind the big dog. They tossed a few snowballs and were unable to hit the other two, but Lusa disrupted any attacks that came their way.

When they went back for another round of ammunition, Lambert whispered, "We need a new tactic. Lusa," he looked at the big dog with a serious expression. "I hate to do it, but we need you to take one for the team. You charge them, and they'll be forced to attack you. When they do, we'll charge in behind."

The big dog gave him a worried look and whined softly. Lambert patted him gently on the shoulder, saying, "Don't worry friend, your sacrifice will be avenged, I promise." Lusa gave him a soft whoof and an affectionate lick across the face. Lambert laughed.

When the call to charge came, Lusa burst through the wall in front of them in a spectacular explosion of snow, and charged at full speed towards Geralt and Triss. They were so surprised they didn't even see the final attack as it hit them. When they realized it, they both fell back into the snow, laughing in surrender.

"Yes!" Solona yelled and she and Lambert did a little victory dance with Lusa leaping in the snow beside them.

"Who's for another round?" Lambert asked with a grin when the losers stood up.

"As if I'll let you get the best of me, brother," Geralt taunted as he stood up and brushed the snow from his trousers.

Eskel trotted over and said, "Okay, but only if we can make a trade. Triss for the dog."

Triss shot an insulted look at the large Witcher who just shrugged at her in mock helplessness and said, "It's a matter of survival, babe."

Solona sighed in resignation, "Fine, if you insist." She called Lusa to her and explained the change in rules. She was honestly surprised at how easily he seemed to adapt to the idea, trotting over to stand with Geralt, Eskel, and Vesemir, and giving her a look as though he were saying "I know your tricks, woman, don't mess with me." It made her laugh to herself.

"We're so screwed," she muttered. Lambert grumbled something unintelligible in response. Triss stood before them and made a little noise that sounded vaguely insulted.

"You guys," Triss said. "I'm standing right here. We can kick their asses... we just have to hit the dog first."

Lambert gave Triss an appraising look, "Merigold is right. We focus on the dog." Solona caught the look of irritation Triss shot at Lambert, and saw something interesting in the steady gaze he returned to the other woman. She got the distinct impression that he had deliberately tried to get a rise out of her, but Triss refused to bite. Instead, she just grabbed a pair of snowballs and squatted down behind the wall next to Solona. Solona heard her mutter the word "asshole" under her breath before pasting an overly cheerful smile on her face which Solona didn't believe for a second.

"Okay, let's do this," Lambert said. "Bekim, you hang back and wait. When they're spread out chasing the rest of us, sneak in behind them and don't hesitate. Everyone else go for the dog first." The boy nodded with a big grin. He was clearly having the time of his life today.

The next round didn't go in their favor, and afterwards the game degenerated into chaotic snowball-flinging between all the parties and shoving of cold snow down pants and shirts until everyone was thoroughly chilled and soaked with melted snow, but laughing hysterically.

They retreated indoors when it was clear the game was no longer bearing fruit and headed straight for the hot baths downstairs.

Everyone hurriedly stripped out of their cold, damp clothes and splashed into the hot water with uninhibited abandon. When Solona and Triss joined them Bekim just sat at the far end of the pool and watched as stoically as possible, trying not to stare at the way Triss' full breasts swayed slightly when she walked down the steps and joined Eskel on the bench. The Witcher draped a large arm over her slender shoulders and leaned in to kiss her gently on the cheek. When Solona disrobed and joined them, Bekim watched Geralt intently and could clearly see the internal struggle the man was dealing with.

Solona settled on a bench near the steps next to Lambert and cast a quick glance to the other end of the pool where Geralt sat studiously ignoring her. Shortly after she arrived, Geralt left abruptly, hopping out of the pool at the far end and draping a towel around his hips before quickly striding out of the room. Bekim noted the brief pained expression on her face when that happened. She was soon distracted by something Lambert said to her that made her laugh, but the mirth was never reflected in her eyes.

The group was chatting idly as they relaxed in the steaming water, joking about their little war and critiquing their different strategies. They all agreed that Lusa was the biggest asset for any team, and laughed in unison when they heard the big dog let out a low howl from the doorway, then strut around the pool once before settling down by the door to rest.

Conversation lulled as the heat began to soak into them. Vesemir eventually exited the pool to dress and left with Bekim to start dinner, and Lusa followed at their heels. The word "dinner" always seemed to get the big dog's attention.

Triss stood up and then sank under the water, holding her breath and swimming beneath the surface to the other end of the pool with a quick breast stroke. She rose up at the other end, the water trickling down from the soaked tendrils of her hair and she glanced back over her shoulder at Eskel with a beckoning look. Solona noted both men watching the woman with similar expressions of hungry need. She heard Eskel's low growl before he stood to follow her.

"Well, that's my cue," she heard Lambert mutter beside her and he exited the pool in much the same fashion that Geralt had earlier, and she didn't miss the particular state he was in, either. She followed him, throwing on her pants and a shirt quickly and drying her hair with a towel. She grabbed her other clothes and shoes and trotted barefoot down the corridor behind him.

"Lambert, you could have told me," she whispered to him when she caught up to him.

"I've no idea what you're referring to, Sol," he said tersely.

"You're in love with her," she stated succinctly.

"Nonsense," he replied.

She snorted. "And you're clearly in denial about it, too."

He stopped abruptly and gripped her shoulder, forcing her to stop and turn to face him. Through gritted teeth he said, "If I am, what the hell am I supposed to do about it? She was in love with Geralt for  _years_ , and now..." he was interrupted by soft sounds of passion floating out of the bath and turned quickly to continue back up the corridor.

Halfway up the stairs he said quietly, "I love my brothers. Even if she didn't actively detest me, I would never try to steal her from either of them. It's hard enough for Witchers to find love. It would be too cruel an insult for me to take that away from Eskel."

Solona said, "Well, you don't exactly make it easy for her to like you. You could try to be nicer."

"You just don't get it, do you? I can't be nicer. We're both better off if she thinks I'm an ass."

Solona shook her head in disbelief at his stubbornness but didn't push the subject further.

* * *

Dusk was just beginning to settle outside the fortress when it started. Lusa was the first to notice, and began whining faintly at the front door. The others were just finishing dinner and heads all turned abruptly when the sounds of barking dogs began to echo through the valley. Bekim caught the sudden air of eerie apprehension that fell over everyone as they exchanged silent glances.

Geralt's jaw clenched and he glanced at Solona, holding her gaze steadily. "It's time," he said, and she nodded in response, standing silently and heading to her room to get her gear. One more mutagen to collect and they would be finished. She was still only halfway through the series of mutagenic changes that would finally make her a Witcher, but the prospect of having this particular step completed felt like a major milestone to her.

Back in the main hall, Vesemir asked, "Wolf, are you sure you want to meet the Hunt tonight?" The full moon will give them an advantage and they'll be out in full force. We can wait and go another night... catch the wraiths in a smaller group to secure the Vapors for Solona. You know if we go tonight and the King is in attendance he's going to try to..."

Geralt cut the man off, abruptly, "I know what he's going to try, and we won't let him. It's time to end this. With the six of us together we can handle all the wraiths, and I can handle the King."

Vesemir's brow drew together and the older man said in a fierce voice, "But you can't kill him, Wolf! And if you banish him how much longer until he returns and the cycle starts over?"

"I think I  _can_  kill him," Geralt said with deadly certainty, and the others stared at him, stunned into silence. "I can't explain right now. If you all are with me, we need to get moving. We know where to meet them."

"We're with you, Wolf," Eskel said. Lambert and Triss both nodded and they headed to their rooms to prepare.

"Bekim, you're staying here with Lusa. Keep the fires burning and stay inside," Vesemir instructed the boy before leaving the room to get his own gear.

It was fully dark and the full moon was slowly creeping its way over the stables when they mounted up and Bekim raised the portcullis for them to ride out.

Geralt and Solona rode side by side in the lead and her skin prickled with anticipation. As if he had sensed her state of mind, she heard Geralt's voice in her head,  _I need you to follow my instructions exactly tonight. Don't take any chances, Sol. We can't risk anything happening to you._  She turned her head to study him silently and nodded solemnly. He glanced at her again, eyeing her light armor beneath her cloak and she heard his voice in her mind again.  _Are you going to be warm enough?_  She smiled softly at his evident concern.  _Yes, the dragon hide alone is more than enough to fend off the chill. I just don't like to wear it to train in._ She glanced at his gloved hands holding his horse's reins and briefly regretted not giving him the gloves she had made for him. It was a bitterly cold night and she knew they would need every advantage. She felt silly for worrying. He knew as well as she did what they were about to do. Better, in fact.

They reached the Witchers' graveyard after half an hour of riding through the snow-covered valley. A harsh wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the growing sounds of barking dogs and ghostly hoofbeats that seemed to echo from every direction in the night. Dozens of gravestones were lined up like soldiers in a large clearing across the top of a low hill several miles from the castle. The full moon cast stark shadows of each uniform rectangular stone on the unblemished snow that covered the graves of the fallen Witchers. They dismounted quietly at the edge of the clearing and tethered their horses to the trees. Geralt crunched across the snow and hopped over the low stone wall that surrounded the graveyard, followed closely by the others. He walked to the center of the clearing and stopped before a stone monument carved in the shape of a large wolf's head with faces on all four sides, and a large hollow in the center accessible from the mouths. He reached into the pouch at his side and drew out a small flask, which he emptied into a bowl-shaped indentation carved in the center of the gaping stone mouths. With a flick of his wrist, the oil burst into flame, and the eyes of each face lit up, illuminating the snow around the odd lantern with a warm, orange glow.

They waited for the Wild Hunt to come to them.


	23. The Wild Hunt

The wind howled around them, whipping their cloaks against their bodies and causing the glow of the lantern in the center of the cemetery to flicker violently. Triss began to walk around the low wall bordering the graveyard, methodically counting paces with Eskel escorting her, and placing protective wards at equidistant intervals.

Solona followed suit and began to cast a few protective glyphs around the inner area surrounding them. She pushed the hood of her heavy cloak back for visibility and her pale curls fluttered around her face in the wind. Geralt watched her work from the shadow of his hood and was briefly struck by how much she seemed in her element at this moment. It had been weeks since they'd fought together in a real battle, and it hadn't occurred to him until now how much this atmosphere made her seem to come alive. So much so that it frightened him just a little bit. He knew that look of excitement. That thirst for battle that was apparent even in the subdued activity she was currently undertaking. It could serve a warrior well in a fight, but the fact that he was seeing it on her face caused a faint panic to rise up in him and he struggled briefly to quash it. He felt the need to caution her against recklessness and sent a quick thought to her.

 _If you see the king early on, you need to throw mandrake onto the flame. That will banish him for a time. We don't want to face him until we've dealt with his army,_  Geralt's voice resonated inside her mind.  _Don't do anything stupid, Solona. I couldn't bear it if I lost you._

The last phrases escaped his mind involuntarily and she tilted up her head sharply to meet his gaze, her lips parted slightly in surprise at his admission. He glanced away from her, and after a brief and mildly awkward moment he heard her voice in his own mind,  _You too, Geralt._  She held his gaze a moment longer before returning to her task.

The wind grew more violent around them and the sounds of beating hooves and barking dogs seemed to converge on them from every direction. The noises became almost deafening when they saw the first of the wraiths charging on ethereal horses over the tops of the trees, their tattered, ghostly cloaks streaming out behind them with an eerie, blood-red glow.

The men drew their steel swords and stood ready at each of the four sides of the graveyard. Solona and Triss were on guard within their midst, the glow of magic already flickering along their fingers and down the length of Solona's staff. Solona pushed her cloak back over her shoulders and gripped her staff in one hand, her body tingling in anticipation of the coming battle.

Geralt glanced at her once more, his eyes drifting over her snug dragonhide armor and the way it hugged her curves. His eyes traced the small section of scar that was visible on the pale skin of her chest just above the tightly laced leather bodice and lightweight wool tunic beneath. Even in the cold moonlight he could tell she was flushed with excitement, her chest rising and falling with eager breaths. He caught his mind beginning to stray into dangerous territory and he looked away abruptly, forcing himself to focus instead on the coming battle.

The full moon was huge and hung high overhead, illuminating the clearing with a light as bright as day when the first wraith's steed touched down on the virgin snow that surrounded the graveyard. The snow remained unmarred by the horse's pawing hooves.

The wraith paused for the briefest moment when it saw the Witchers waiting for it with swords drawn, then let out a haunting battle cry that was nearly deafening in Solona's ears. It charged straight at them, its fellows following behind. Several members of their ranks raised ghostly horns to their mouths and dissonant trumpeting filled the air and chilled Solona to her bones.

She counted no fewer than two dozen riders come charging for them in disorganized ranks. As their ghostly steeds took the leap over the low stone wall, they hit the wards Triss had set. The horses screamed and abruptly disintegrated into tattered wisps of dead flesh that burned to ash and drifted to the ground. The riders merely floated quickly to the ground and began swinging their weapons at the men who faced them.

She felt an elated shiver travel down her spine when she heard Geralt's fierce battle cry as he began swinging his sword in wide arcs at three wraiths who had engaged him. Seeing him in action again caused her pulse to race as much as it did when he touched her. She watched enraptured while he lashed out and with several quick sweeps of his sword his opponents disintegrated into ashes, joining the remains of their mounts on the snow beneath them. But a second later there were more of them assaulting him with heavy blades and axes that he managed to deftly block. He was quickly joined by his brother Witchers and their older mentor. Vesemir seemed as lithe and skilled as the younger men, and the four of them fought side by side while Triss and Solona stood back casting spells in support.

Solona began casting quickly, first enveloping Geralt in a defensive aura, and then a mass rejuvenation spell for all six of them. In the weeks since she had begun the mutagenic changes she had begun to gradually feel more and more connected to the power present in the world around her. Triss' explanations of the source of magic in this world finally began to make sense. Tonight she felt more connected to it than ever and felt infused with the energy that surrounded her, almost to the same degree as when she'd inadvertently stepped within the place of power in Ard Carraigh.

She saw the first wave of wraiths begin to split up and spread out to flank them. She quickly conjured a blizzard in a wide area above the backmost ranks before they could follow suit. Her initial spell merely managed to slow them down slightly until she drew in more power and added a tempest on top of it. The resulting storm took shape as a huge, swirling cyclone of ice and snow, with occasional small bolts of lightning flickering within it. It churned violently for several moments, its sounds adding to the howling winds around them, sucking in any creature that stood within a few feet of it and tossing them about in the air. When it finally dissipated a minute later only a fraction of the creatures were still intact and moving, and were so battered and weak that they would be little threat when they finally did reach the battle.

She could hear their swords whistling through the air, cutting through the wraiths before them with heavy swooshes. It was odd how there was hardly a sound when the ghostly figures were cut down. She discovered that her force spells were almost ineffective against them, so had switched to flinging fireballs instead, but the wraiths were quick and far too many were focusing on the four Witchers who faced them. She found herself having to focus more intently on casting spells to bolster their defenses or to heal them, and noted Triss doing the same thing beside her, a look of fierce determination on the other woman's face.

Solona felt a shift in the atmosphere to one side of her that she could only explain as a change in the flow of energy through the air and it seemed to grow several degrees colder. At first there was no visual indication that anything was different, but she turned her head to look and gradually began to see a shape coalesce in the moonlight. It began at the ground, the moonbeams converging into the shapes of massive hooves and drifting snowflakes clinging together to form the shapes and curves of a ghostly steed that held a huge spectral rider. The rider sat motionless, holding an immense glowing scythe in its grip. It watched the battle for a brief second before slowly turning its gaze on her. She remembered him from her dream and reached for the pouch of mandrake at her side, but paused when she met the glowing embers of his eyes.

His eyes glowed red as he took her in. He had a huge crown made of twisted horns resting atop his head. His face seemed to flicker between the countenance of an exquisitely beautiful man and the deathly fleshless grin of some hideous creature. Her heart began to pound as she felt his eyes bore into her, seeming to see into her very soul. She saw his flickering lips begin to move and a sound akin to stone grating on stone came forth.

" _How fortuitous that I should find you here. This is quite unexpected,"_  he spoke slowly and his cold, penetrating voice made her bones ache. He urged his ghostly horse to turn so that he could face her across the low wall of the graveyard. She felt the vibrations of the huge creature's bulk shifting atop the earth on hooves the size of anvils, but it made no indentations in the snow.

When the horse came to a halt facing her, twin billows of icy breath erupted from its nostrils. The creature astride it asked with intense curiosity,  _"You have the blood. Who are you?"_

She gritted her teeth and answered, "I am not yours. You will die tonight." She gripped her staff tightly and a surge of magic flared through it, making it illuminate brightly.

" _You may not be mine, but he is."_  He gestured with a bony hand to Geralt who was still fiercely engaged in battle with several wraiths.

" _And I wager that I can make you mine tonight,"_  he said with a grin. He took in her defiant stance and her white hair whipping out behind her in the wind.

There was a subtle change in his posture as he studied her and his gruesome grin widened.

" _You are she. The one I've been searching for. You are Gwynrhena, are you not?"_

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm no queen," she stated bitingly.

" _But you could be. You have the blood."_  The way his glowing eyes flickered over her body caused a cold burn to begin growing inside her. His ghostly face flickered back to the image of a man for a few seconds and the expression she saw was that of raw lust. She felt a wave of nausea wash over her.

"I am not  _yours_!" she yelled at him and called up a surge of magic to fling at him. She whipped her staff around and aimed it at him, slinging a ball of lightning the size of his head. It struck him in the middle of the chest and rocked him back, causing his visage to freeze momentarily into a deathly grimace. His horse reared up in reaction to the attack, its huge hooves pawing at the air. It came down again a second later with a deafening thud that shook the ground and caused Solona to stumble back a step to maintain her balance.

" _You are strong. You remind me of someone I once loved,"_ he said idly.  _"You would make an excellent queen. Join me, Gwynrhena."_  The face of the man was back, beautiful but repugnant with its leering hunger. A buzz of sickening cold terror seethed up her spine and settled at the base of her skull. Her gut clenched in fear and disgust at the long buried images that surged forth from deep within her; memories of being helpless and at the mercy of a similar brutal, unfeeling lust. But this time she knew she could fight back.

She readied another spell and with a harsh yell she sent a huge fireball at the legs of his mount. The creature let out a primal scream that pierced through the howling winds before it dissolved into wisps of decayed flesh and ash. The King of the Wild Hunt continued to hover as though standing just above the ground. His gaze hardened.

" _I would prefer if you came willingly, but I am not above taking you by force. Join me and you will know power beyond your comprehension as a mortal woman. Rule by my side, Gwynrhena."_

* * *

The piercing scream from behind them caused Geralt to whip his head around in alarm. What he saw caused his heart to plummet inside his chest. He turned back and made quick work of the pair of wraiths before him. With a signal to the others he turned to run to the other side of the graveyard where Solona stood.

"Solona!" he yelled loudly to overcome the din of clashing swords and the still deafening howl of wind. "Where is the mandrake!"

She didn't seem to hear him, and continued to stand facing off with the large spectral figure before her.

"We can kill this bastard, Geralt," she said, keeping her gaze steadily on the King. "He's not as strong as he would have us think."

The ethereal figure turned his head to gaze at Geralt.  _"Ah, little wolf. I see you've brought me a gift. Perhaps I can forgive your earlier insults."_

Geralt ignored the jibe and yelled again, "The mandrake! Solona!"

"I thought you wanted to kill him! What are you waiting for?" she yelled back.

Geralt turned to look back at the fight he had just left. The other Witchers were still severely outnumbered by wraiths but were holding their own. He had to hope they could continue to do so while he took care of the matter before him.

Geralt glowered at her and then moved in front of her to face the King. "It looks like it's your time after all," he said to the huge glowing spectre with a sneer.

The ghostly figure's face flickered to the deathly rictus again as he raged at them.  _"If that is how it has to be, then prepare to die, boy! But I will tell you the truth before I take your soul to join my riders."_

"Nothing you say matters. You spout nothing but lies!" Geralt yelled.

" _Ah, there you are wrong. I think you know I speak the truth. Yours is Elder Blood, as was the child you fostered. She would have been my queen but needlessly sacrificed herself for you over some fool prophecy. I would kill you for that alone. But you owe me a queen of Elder Blood, and it seems you have found another scion of Lara Dorren. And the true subject of the prophecy, no less. So fortuitous that you have brought her to me. Step aside, Wolf. She is mine!"_

The figure charged over the stone wall, ignoring the flash of the ward that activated as he crossed the barrier. He let out a bloodthirsty scream and swung his giant scythe around in a large, sweeping arc which Geralt and Solona both just barely managed to dodge.

"Never!" Geralt yelled and lashed out with his sword, cutting a large swath through the rust-covered armor across the creature's chest.

Solona began flinging spells with abandon, but no matter how many times they seemed to slow him down or stagger him, he kept coming back with unflagging energy to swing his scythe around at them again. Geralt's attacks seemed to be having little more effect, but he kept going. He had said he knew how to kill the King, so she continued to have faith that he was right.

She summoned her reserves of energy to draw in more power and flung the spell at him, realizing belatedly that she'd unconsciously cast a force spell that would likely have no effect. She was surprised when the spell slammed into him and he was suddenly and violently ripped apart by it. She felt a surge of triumph but it was shortlived when she saw the spectral remains floating in the air begin to reconstitute into his ghostly form. The attack seemed to enrage him further and he turned to focus on her, swinging his scythe around quickly.

"Solona, move!" Geralt yelled. She was still weak from the energy her last spell had cost her and took an unsteady step back as the huge glowing blade swung ever closer to her. She tried to fling herself clear of it but as the blade drew even with her she felt the cold bite of its pointed tip hit the side of her throat and searing pain shot through her, followed by sudden, icy blackness.

* * *

When her blood hit the blade of the scythe it began to glow with a blinding light and the King of the Wild Hunt was briefly taken aback.  _"How is this possible?"_ he muttered.  _"Her blood is even purer than Lara's was. I must have her!"_

Geralt stood staring in anguish at Solona's still form lying on the snowy ground, a small pool of blood beginning to stain the snow beneath her head. His rage was instantaneous and he spun back to face the spectral figure. He opened his mouth and let out a loud, guttural yell and leaped at the creature with his sword aimed for the center of its chest.

" _She is not yours!"_  Geralt yelled as his sword pierced through the heart of the figure before him. The King's head whipped around, a look of surprise and sudden realization plastered on its near-human features.

" _You... love... her..."_ he said haltingly, and a wide smile began to form on his face.  _"You may have finally bested me thanks to her, my son,"_ he gasped,  _"but your love for her will be the death of you one day, of that you can be certain. And when that day comes, you will understand."_

Geralt let out another agonized yell and ripped his sword from the chest of the King, then swung it around in a wide arc, cutting off the creature's grotesquely crowned head.

* * *

_Solona stood on the familiar precipice. She heard the deep rumbling breath of the dragon beside her and saw Geralt's figure standing an eternity away on the other side of the chasm._

_A dry, feminine voice spoke beside her. "You have succeeded together where I had failed. It was no small feat to kill the King of the Wild Hunt. His true name was Eredin, and I loved him once. But he failed me. He could not see the value in my work among these worlds. He became bitter that I wouldn't join him and be his queen in his own world. And so he betrayed me."_

_Solona turned to gaze at the figure of the older woman. "You used us to get back at him, didn't you?" she asked._

_Flemeth only said, "Men can too easily be blinded by love. Love can be a great strength at times, but also a terrible weakness. Make sure your love keeps you strong, child, but keep your eyes on the path. You will need the strength of that love for what is to come. But first you need to cross this chasm to even reach it."_

_Flemeth's wise golden eyes held hers for several moments. Solona finally turned away and looked despairingly across the wide expanse of nothingness between her and Geralt._

" _I don't know what I'm supposed to do," she stated weakly._

_The older woman stared across the chasm and said slowly, "You stand upon the precipice of a great darkness within you. I can see that you fear the inevitable plummet into the abyss. But you must not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly."_

" _What should I do?" Solona asked, looking out over the chasm helplessly but beginning to understand._

_Flemeth answered with a slight glint in her golden eyes. "Do as I do. Become a dragon."_

* * *

They stabled the horses wordlessly and went inside, Solona walking briskly ahead of Geralt and the others. They hadn't spoken a word on the ride back and she knew he was still angry with her. The fight had been brutal, the revelations that followed it throwing her off balance, and she was exhausted and not interested in dealing with another conflict this evening. She barely registered Bekim's relieved greeting before she stalked up the stairs to the library on the second floor, leaned her staff in the corner by the door, and dropped her cloak and pack on the book and parchment-laden table in the center of the room. She began hunting through the scattered papers for the book that contained her notes on the mutagens.

She felt him approach her from behind and roughly grab her by the shoulders, spinning her around to face him. His jaw was tightly clenched, the muscles twitching slightly at the strain of maintaining control of his anger, but his yellow eyes burned with uncensored fury. She felt a subtle, irrational panic at seeing this side of him. She'd seen the kind of calculating, violent ferocity he possessed when he was fighting monsters, but his treatment of her had always been gentle.

"What the fuck did you think you were doing out there? You could have gotten us all killed!" His words were measured but their volume betrayed his anger.

His fingers dug sharply into her shoulders and she flinched at the roughness with which he touched her. She suddenly saw the resemblance between him and the monster they had bested tonight and felt a growing dread.

Her eyes bore into his with equal intensity. Matching his volume, she said, "Well we didn't, did we? We got what we needed and destroyed that bastard in the process." She shrugged her shoulders, trying to shake off his hold, which only gripped her harder. When he bared his teeth at her, the resemblance to the creature they had fought became even more pronounced and she struggled to hold the resulting panic at bay.

He shook her slightly and said, "It was a foolish, reckless thing to do, especially when we're this close to our goal." This incited an indignant rage in her that began to bubble forth. She snorted softly, glaring at him.

"I've faced tougher creatures and lived."

 _She was too reckless,_  he thought. He needed her to understand what her risk could have cost them. He released his grip on one of her shoulders and grabbed the neck of her soft leather armor and the tunic beneath, yanking hard. There was a ripping sound as the front laces gave way along with the stitching on one side. He pointed at the thick, ragged scar curving over one breast and leaned his face in closer to hers for emphasis, their noses nearly touching.

"Like the creature that did  _that_? How close did you come to dying from that wound?" He'd had his share of brushes with death and the scars to match. He knew a potentially fatal wound when he saw one. His eyes went to her throat and the fresh, pink scar that now blazed down her neck below one ear. A fraction of an inch forward and it would have killed her, and there would have been nothing he could do to stop it. The very thought that she could endanger herself and others so heedlessly infuriated him further.

He reached up his hand and grabbed her chin, turning her head roughly to the side, making the fresh scar stand out in the dim light of the room. His voice was rough and desperate, "And this! Do you have _any_ idea how close I was to losing you out there tonight?"

She was so focused on his suddenly violent demeanor that the raw anguish in his voice didn't register. She tore her jaw from his grasp and her hand came up in a solid fist, punching him squarely in the mouth. The force of the punch knocked his head back sharply and split his lower lip.

"You have no idea the things I've had to survive to make it here!" she yelled furiously.

He barely heard her as the coppery taste of blood hit his tongue and rage blossomed inside him at her stubbornness to see reason. His head pounded with his sudden anger and the impact of her fist on his face. He gripped her upper arms and pushed her hard against a small desk that sat against the wall opposite the table. She crashed into it with a grunt, causing the objects on its surface to fly to the floor. He vaguely registered the sound of glass breaking around them.

His teeth were bared menacingly as his face came close to hers again. He was on the verge of letting loose a torrent of reprimands when he felt the soft flesh of her exposed breast brush against the side of his thumb where he gripped her arm. The sensation abruptly shifted the focus of his passionate outburst and he was suddenly acutely aware of their closeness and the warmth of her body against his. His previous anger at her was replaced by an overwhelming need to be inside her. His breath quickened and he tilted his hips involuntarily to grind against hers, and instead of reprimanding her, he found himself compelled to kiss her.

Something appeared to snap inside her when his hand snaked up to grip the back of her neck and his mouth came close to hers. Her eyes suddenly became wide with fear, which was quickly joined by an expression of dangerous desperation, like a wild animal that found itself caught in a trap. He realized too late that something was very wrong when she struggled against his solid grip and screamed out a desperate "No!"

He felt the air in the small space between them coalesce a split second before the blast hit him, invisible but as solid as another punch in the face. He let go of her and staggered back, shaking his head to clear the daze from the invisible impact.

She was desperate with the need to defend herself from the perceived assault. Still regaining his balance from the recent attack, he saw her raise up both hands, her palms facing him and emitting a subtle glow. Her expression filled with a combination of emotions that confounded him and he saw her make a small pushing gesture into the air. It briefly registered to him that she was  _crying_  before he felt a hard force hit his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. He heard and felt the slight crunch of his ribs cracking and pain shot through his chest at the same instant he felt his feet leave the ground and he flew backwards through the air. His back slammed onto the heavy table a few feet behind him, causing the objects on the table to go flying to the floor in a loud crash.

She said in a voice brittle with both fear and rage, "Now we'll see who has the power."

She closed in on him, her jaw set in a fierce, mirthless grin, her white curls drifting around her face and clinging to her wet cheeks. She looked deadly, even though she had tears streaming down her face and one firm, pink-tipped breast exposed through the rent in her armor. He was still dazed from the loss of wind and the pain in his chest when she reached him.

With gritted teeth bared, she grabbed the front of his trousers solidly in her fist, and ripped them open. She climbed astride him where he lay on the table and leaned over, kissing him harshly on the mouth and making him wince when her teeth bit down on the bleeding wound in his lip.

She reached down and grabbed his already erect cock in her hand, stroking him roughly. The feel of her palm grasping his engorged flesh overwhelmed him, blocking out the possibility of any rational thought. The contact seemed to affect her as well, the desperate look on her face transforming into an expression of dangerous lust. Nothing mattered now but fulfilling their long overdue need.

When he regained control of his reflexes finally, he wrapped his arms around her and deftly turned their bodies so that her back was on the table and his feet firmly planted on the ground for leverage. He felt her legs grip him tightly and ground his hips against hers, burning with increasing need to be inside her. He reached his hands down and ripped her armor further, exposing both breasts. He grasped one soft breast in his hand, tweaking the nipple hard, then bent his head to the other one, ignoring the reproach of his damaged ribs. Before his lips met the firm pink flesh he felt her hand grasp the ponytail at the back of his head and yank hard, pulling his head back up and meeting his eyes with an expression of crazed desire. She sat up and kissed him savagely, a wild, lost look still in her eyes. He felt the surge of power from her again but was too overcome with lust to dodge it before he felt it push him backwards and his backside hit the beleaguered desk, knocking more of its contents to the floor.

She was up in front of him, kissing him hard again, her tongue penetrating his mouth briefly and her teeth worrying at his bloody lip. He heard her making low, incoherent animalistic sounds as she tore at his clothes, ripping desperately at the buckles of his vest and at the shirt beneath until she reached skin. She drew her fingernails down his chest leaving behind reddened lines in his flesh, then savaged his mouth again with her own.

Every touch from her regardless of its violence just incited his passion further. He reached his hands beneath the narrow slits in her leather riding skirt and skillfully unfastened her snug trousers, yanking them down past her bottom and sliding his hands back up to squeeze her taut ass in both hands. He  _needed_  to be  _inside_ her. She managed to divest herself of her boots and pants just before he grabbed her and turned them both, roughly shoving her back into a nearby bookshelf and pinning her against it. The impact caused the shelf to teeter slightly and dislodged several books that crashed to the floor around them.

He yanked at the supple leather of her skirt, pulling it aside and causing it to rip slightly at the seams, then reached down to grab her roughly behind both thighs, hoisting her up against the shelf behind her. In one powerful stroke he buried his hard length to the hilt inside her. He groaned at the sudden pleasure, his mind reeling at the contradicting sensations of pain and pleasure coursing through his body. She cried out in ecstasy when he entered her and bit down hard on the flesh of his shoulder where his shirt had started sliding off.

He pounded into her in a frenzy of lust, the vibration causing more books to tumble down from the shelves around them, then bent his head down and sunk his own teeth into the soft flesh at the junction of her neck and shoulder, not even stopping when he realized he had drawn blood. She grabbed his ponytail and forced his head back up, crushing her lips to his again and thrusting her tongue deep into his mouth. He returned the kiss hungrily.

He felt the muscles in his legs protesting at the exertion, coming so soon after the strenuous battle they'd had earlier. He began to lose balance and staggered backwards. When his ass hit the table behind him, he lay back, pulling Solona on top of him. She dug her fingernails into his chest and continued to ride him, fucking him as hard and with as much crazed need as he had just been burying himself into her. He grasped her hips hard in both hands and forced her to move faster, lifting her up and slamming her hot, wet flesh back down onto his. She cried out loudly in ecstasy and he felt the muscles gripping his cock begin to spasm. He slid his hand down between her thighs and stroked her hard. She came in another wild paroxysm of pleasure. The feel of her spasming muscles gripped him and sent him spiraling to his own sudden and violent climax.

* * *

In the main room of the keep, Bekim sat with the others, everyone studiously attempting to ignore the noises coming from the floor above. He caught a few concerned glances flash between Triss and Vesemir. The big black dog lay before the hearth, quiet, but alert to the sounds, occasionally making little noises of doggy concern but clearly uncertain about whether he dared investigate.

When Solona had first stormed through the door Geralt had paused only long enough to drop gloves, cloak, and swords on a rack nearby and had nodded a terse greeting to Bekim, then turned to the others saying he had to deal with something before he stalked up the stairs after Solona.

There was more yelling from above, mixed with more sounds of destruction, giving the impression that a tempest had erupted on the floor above them, but they gradually faded into muffled cries of passion. Lusa whined softly and Vesemir muttered, "This is why we don't have women witchers."

* * *

Gradually he came back to his senses to the sound of her hitching breaths and intermittent sobs, and her quiet plea of "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" in between breaths. He could feel her hot tears pooling in the center of his bare chest as she lay against him.  _What the fuck?_

 _Shit. Had he managed to hurt her during all that?_  Immediately concerned, he wrapped his arms around her and sat them both up, ignoring the pain that flashed through his chest. Quietly, he said, "Solona? What is it? Why are you crying?" His asking only seemed to make it worse.

Unsure what else he could do, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. After a moment he shifted her off his lap and made an effort to close up his ripped britches. Then he stood up and lifted her into his arms, carrying her limp and crying body from the room and up the flight of stairs to her room at the top of the tower.

Her crying had subsided somewhat when he laid her on her bed. He took a quick moment to more securely re-lace his pants which thankfully hadn't been completely destroyed. Then he lay down next to her, wrapping a gentle arm around her and holding her close.

"Solona," he said again, his voice rough with concern, "Please tell me what's wrong." She took a deep, ragged breath to finally speak, but he was unprepared for what she finally told him.

Her words seemed forced at first, "It was at the Circle... I caught them in a barracks storage room about to  _hurt_  her," she spat the word "hurt" out through clenched teeth. "I tried to blast them with a spell and yelled for Nyria to get away. She ran, but they were ready for me." She shrugged, and he sensed something breaking down inside her and held her tighter, stroking her hair gently with his other hand.

She shook her head and said bitterly, "I suppose if you're in the practice of raping mages you need to be prepared for them to be on the offensive, huh?" He looked down at her and saw that tears were still streaming unnoticed down her reddened cheeks. He found a handkerchief in one of his pockets and blotted gently at her tears.

She shrugged weakly and continued, "There were three of them. There just wasn't any... anything I could do." She let out a ragged breath and clung to his hands tightly. "Two of them held me down and the third struck me..." She reached her hand up to trace the scar on her jaw.

"After that it was all a blur..." she spoke as if she were in a trance again and shook her head. He kept his arms around her and closed his eyes tightly, trying to suppress the rage he felt at the idea of her being violated in that way.

She wished she could forget it all. She felt she had managed to heal in the past few years since it had happened, but the ordeal still haunted her dreams frequently. Until now she hadn't told anyone about it, but she continued to speak, unable to keep it all in now that the floodgates had been opened.

The three templars had brutalized her and left her beaten in a bloody, bruised heap in a corner. She had tried to fight back but they had suppressed her magic and had overpowered her. She had felt every pinch, every bite, every searing thrust as they had violated her, but it had been as though she were a bystander watching from outside herself.

A few hours later she still sat curled up in a dark corner of the room they had left her in and had the vague sense of someone entering the room, cursing softly in a familiar and  _kind_ voice, then strong arms lifting her up and carrying her to her room. Her friend Jowan was still the only other person who had any idea of what had occurred. When she thanked him for bringing her back, he insisted that he wasn't the one who had found her, but was reluctant to tell her the identity of the person who had.

He continued to hold her after she grew silent and her crying had finally abated. After several minutes of she said quietly, "Geralt, I'm sorry if I hurt you... earlier. And I'm sorry for endangering everyone tonight. I was foolish."

He only kissed her gently on the temple in response and held her tighter. As she drifted off in his arms, the briefest glimpse of memory came to her mind. The sound of that kind voice that had found her, the strong arms topped by black feathered pauldrons, the blonde hair brushing the tops of his shoulders. And the promise that he would make it right if it was the last thing he ever did.


	24. The Abyss

Geralt woke with a start when the pale dawn light began streaming through the windows and hit his eyes. The memory of the dream hit him and he sat bolt upright, looking immediately to the other side of the bed. She was gone.

His eyes darted around her room in alarm. He saw her dark armor hanging by the wardrobe, but her boots and cloak were absent. When he stood, a flash of color from the bed caught his eyes and he looked down at her pillow again. He saw a small bundle resting there, wrapped in soft cloth and tied with a ribbon. A small slip of paper was tucked under the ribbon with his name inked onto it in light script. He paused in surprise and reached for it. He untied the ribbon and unfolded the cloth, finding within a pair of very simple looking black leather gloves. When he touched the leather he recognized the feel of it as the same as the leather armor she wore.

The gift itself did much to calm his earlier worry, but he wouldn't rest easy until he found her. The images from their dream the night before raced through his head repeatedly. Something had changed last night, and he was uncertain whether or not it was a change for the good. The last image he remembered was Solona stretching out her arms, tilting back her head and diving head-long into the abyss that separated them.

"Triss, Vesemir. Has anyone seen Solona this morning?" he asked brusquely when he reached the main hall in the process of buckling up his gear and pulling on his gloves. He paused only briefly, surprised at how comfortable and supple the gloves were, and how well they seemed to fit his large hands. Everyone looked at him blankly.

"She's not with you?" Triss asked.

"She was gone when I woke up," he said. He caught the serious stares that Vesemir and Triss were giving him, and said, "I just need to find her first, then we can work out...  _that_  issue, if we need to."

He heard a soft whoof and felt a nudge at his gloved hand. Lusa stood looking up at him expectantly for a second, then turned his large, furry head towards the front door. Reading the dog's intentions, Geralt nodded and said, "Alright, let's go find her, boy."

* * *

Solona stood at the edge of the huge outcropping of rock, staring out at the snow-covered valley and the castle below her. Her horse stood a few paces off, snorting and pawing his hoof at the snow covered ground looking for any bit of greenery he could graze on.

If she had come up here the day before and stood on the edge of this cliff it would have frightened her, but this morning she felt free. It was such an odd sensation, being able to reach back into her past and finally confront the darkest moments without hesitation or fear.

She kicked the snow away from the cliff's edge and sat, dangling her legs over the side. It was beautiful up here on top of the world. She remembered a much earlier dream she'd had when her journey was only beginning. She remembered... _flying_... over this very spot. The dragon had been the key all along, but she had been blinded by her fear of the past and hadn't seen it. She could feel  _them_  again, too. Their low whispers were stronger at the back of her mind now. It was as though she'd had a constant storm raging inside her as long as she could remember that had drowned out all the important details. But the storm had finally ceased, and the sun had come out, casting its warm light over the landscape of her past. And in the bright light of day the things that had previously seemed ominous and dangerous were rendered suddenly impotent of power over her.

It was so peaceful. She pushed her hood back and tilted her head back letting the sunlight warm her face.

She could hear the clink of a harness and the thump of hooves moving up the path she had followed to get here. She heard Lusa's panting and the big dog rushed up to her suddenly and licked her face in eager greeting.

"Good boy, Lusa," she said quietly and scratched him on the head before he ran off to explore.

A few moments later she heard the creak of Geralt's leathers as he walked up behind her. He paused quietly for a moment and then sat down next to her, his leather-clad legs hanging over the edge of the rock they sat upon.

"I was worried when I woke up and you were gone," he said softly.

She responded by reaching out and grasping his hand tightly in her own. She could sense the tension in him. She had a lot to say but wasn't quite sure where she should begin.

"Thank you," she said finally. He turned his head and studied her quietly while she continued. "Thank you for being patient with me. I've been incredibly selfish and it wasn't until today that I realized how much you've had to deal with... how much I've put you through."

"Solona..." he began. She shook her head at him. She wasn't finished yet.

"And I know I said it last night, but I'm sorry. What I did was stupid, and it jeopardized everything - not the least of which were the lives of people we both care about."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She gripped his hand tighter and said quietly, "You're everything to me, Geralt. If I had lost you over some foolish stunt of mine... "

Wordlessly, he lifted her hand and tugged at the fingers of her glove, pulling it off, then pulled off his own glove. He twined his naked fingers in hers again and lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her bare skin tenderly while meeting her gaze.

"I thought I'd lost  _you_  last night," he said gruffly. The raw emotion in his eyes made her breath hitch in her chest. She hadn't even thought about what it might have been like for him. She had been such a fool.

"I'm..." she began and he shushed her.

"No more apologies. We're past it all now. We're alive. You're alive."

"I love you," she said softly.

His hand clenched hers tightly. "I love you, too."

He seemed to hesitate for a second, then reached into a pocket and drew out a small parcel with a ribbon tied around it.

"I wanted to give you this yesterday," he said. She looked up at him surprised, reaching out to take the small object from his offering hand. She held the box and stared at it for several seconds.

"Are you going to open it?" Geralt asked expectantly. She gave him a small smile and pulled at the end of the ribbon, then tore off the paper. When the paper fell away it revealed a small carved wooden box with what looked like a flower carved into the lid. She pulled the lid off and inhaled a sharp breath when she saw what was inside.

"Geralt..." she breathed as she pulled the ruby ring from its velvet nest. "It's beautiful."

"It's enchanted," he said. She laughed softly and he gave her a perplexed look. "What?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It's nothing," she said quietly. "What's the enchantment?"

"It's a Lifelink enchant. If you wear it, your life force is linked to mine. If you're ever mortally wounded the link will keep you alive as long as I'm alive, until you can be healed. Triss knows more about it if you're curious."

She laughed softly, "You probably should have given it to me yesterday. It might have saved you some heartache."

He smiled at her and nodded in agreement, "You're probably right."

She sat staring at the ring for several moments.

"Will you wear it?" she finally heard him ask huskily. She looked back into his eyes and felt their familiar, comfortable connection for the first time in several days.

"Yes," she whispered as she gazed into his eyes, and slid the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. It fit perfectly.

He looked relieved and there was a visible change in his posture as his muscles relaxed.

They sat in comfortable silence for a time, their fingers entwined. When the sun was past its zenith they finally stood. They faced each other for a moment and their eyes met. Geralt studied her face and was briefly mesmerized by how different she looked. Her eyes seemed wiser and more serene than he remembered. The look made her seem all the more beautiful to him. He lifted his ungloved hand and gripped her jaw, tilting her head up as he bent his own and met her lips with his. He kissed her languidly, satisfied just to feel her soft lips against his own. The kiss itself seemed enough to quench whatever lingering need he still had to be physically intimate with her, and when he pulled away they both sighed softly, then fell into a tight embrace, comforted by each other's closeness.

When she pulled away from him and started to turn to the horses, he pulled her back abruptly.

"Solona," he said and gestured to her neck. "Your amulet."

She glanced down in surprise and gasped when she saw both the dragon and the wolf were glowing brightly and pulsing with hidden energy. She grinned at him.

He gave her a perplexed smile in response. "Do you know what it means?"

"I think it's linked to my dreams somehow. In my dream... our dream... I finally figured out how to cross the abyss. I have a feeling that if I hadn't we wouldn't be able to complete the ritual, and this was a signal that we're ready."

"It will still be several weeks before we head south again," Geralt said as they mounted their horses. "And your changes still need to be completed."

"Yes, I know. But having that dream finally behind me makes me realize how much my past was weighing me down."

"Solona," Geralt said in a somber tone. "We need to talk about last night. We didn't exactly exercise much self restraint."

She was quiet for several moments. The previous evening was still a blur to her from beginning to end, and she was still trying to put the pieces together in her mind. She hadn't let her self dwell on the implications yet, but supposed that it was necessary to address at some point.

She sighed. "In a day or two I might be able to tell one way or the other. Right now, it's still uncertain. I'll talk to Triss when we get back. There was an herbal tea I could take in my world that would... bring on my courses. It's not the same as the tea that prevents pregnancy altogether. Maybe there's something like that here. Either way, I don't regret it. I could never regret it."

"Neither do I, but we still have quite a mess to clean up," he turned to look at her with a wry smile, thinking about how wild she'd been the night before. He wondered if he'd ever see that side of her again.

She smiled back ruefully, "I hope we didn't break anything valuable."

"It's unlikely. The most valuable things in there are the books. The furniture can be repaired."

She gave him a shocked look. "How much damage did we actually do?"

"How many bruises did you have when you woke up?"

She hadn't thought about it. She'd healed the bite mark he'd given her, but realized now how tender parts of her felt. She felt like she'd been in a brawl, and realized that's pretty much what had occurred.

"Well, hopefully Vesemir isn't too mad."

Geralt shook his head, "I imagine he's more worried than angry. That's just his nature."

She nodded and they continued their ride in silence, the rhythmic sounds of the horses' hooves echoing through the valley.


	25. Departure

_Six Weeks Later. Five Months until Midsummer._

* * *

"We need to leave next week," Solona announced at breakfast.

All five men shot startled looks at her. Geralt's eyebrows drew together as he studied her.

"Solona, we have a full month before Belleteyn, and you only just completed the Trials. We should wait until this weather clears. Not to mention you need more time to acclimate to your changes."

"The weather isn't going to clear," she said. Her voice was a low, eerie monotone, her eyes glazed.

A feeling of cold dread began to grow in Geralt's belly at her oddly detached tone. She sounded just like Ciri had during one of her episodes, and he could tell the other Witchers recognized it as well.

"Besides, I'm  _perfectly_  acclimated now," she said in her normal voice, blinking brightly and turning to look at him while she took a bite of buttered toast. He drew back slightly at the contrast.

"What do you mean the weather isn't going to clear?" he asked cautiously.

As Geralt continued to study her with growing concern, he saw her shiver from some imaginary chill. The castle was drafty, but her spot of choice in the dining hall was one of the warmest in the fortress, what with the fire blazing at her back. She'd bundled up in her warmest clothing this morning as well, even though it was no colder than previous mornings. The rest of them were dressed in trousers and shirts – nothing excessive.

All the men had stopped eating and were staring at her intently. Lusa whined, sensing something wasn't right in the room when the mood shifted from boisterous breakfast conversation to tense silence.

She turned her golden eyes to Geralt's, the odd tone returning to her voice. He sensed a hint of desperation in the words this time.

"Balance between the worlds is shifting. The White Chill will persist until the ritual, Geralt. We must leave soon or we will be too late to stop it and all three worlds will die. The Old Gods are restless, they must be awakened to maintain balance, and they  _must not_  awaken where they now slumber."

The White Chill. Geralt grimaced as he recalled his experience with the Grand Master and the vision Solona had recounted of their confrontation at the beginning of her trials. He was certain the Grand Master's warnings had only been the ravings of a madman, but he had suspected – dreaded, even – that it might be more than that. The prophecy also spoke of the White Chill, but Geralt had never considered that it would be a literal manifestation.

He regarded Solona solemnly, his appetite forgotten. His last bite had gone down with difficulty beyond the lump that had formed in his throat. Something was happening to her and he felt utterly ill equipped to deal with it.

She shivered again, but at the moment seemed otherwise oblivious to the change in mood. Lusa stood and walked over to her, nuzzling at her hand with a worried expression. She idly scratched his ears, then stood and cleared her empty plate, heading into the kitchen then up to the second floor without another word. Her eyes still had a distant, dreamy look.

Vesemir cleared his throat and said, "The last mutagen. That must be it."

Geralt looked at him, his eyebrows raised in inquiry.

"The Vapors of the Hunt," the older man elaborated. "The mutagen isn't part of the standard prescription for Witchers – it was the alteration you requested, Wolf. From the witch's grimoire."

Geralt nodded in understanding, feeling less tense now that he had some kind of explanation, but still not exactly relieved. Seeing her in such a state left him feeling helpless, and he wasn't the type of man who dealt well with situations he couldn't fix, particularly when it came to people he cared about.

Geralt clenched his fists, betraying his frustration. He said, "You're right. That has to be it. Every mutagen has had a particularly pronounced effect on her. It must have given her a stronger link to the spirit world than she had before. She's been having vivid dreams again, too. Visions, judging from... her tone just now." He wondered if there was even more to it than that.

"You still share her dreams, then?" Vesemir asked with a note of suspicion.

"Yes. And before you ask,  _no_  we haven't slept together since Midwinter. The connection doesn't seem related to our proximity to each other."

Vesemir snorted softly and shook his head. "Quite a risk you took as it was. I still wonder what was going through your fool heads, the both of you."

Lambert interjected with a laugh. "They  _weren't_  thinking from the sounds we heard that night –  _and_ the state of the room afterwards. You'd have thought a pair of wild dogs had been rutting up there, the way we found things the next morning."

Geralt looked mildly chagrined at being reminded of the event. He didn't like the fact that he could so completely lose control with her. Her own actions had been forgivable in retrospect, but he avoided sharing the particulars of what had incited her violent reaction to him.

He finally muttered, "Well,  _that_  won't be happening again, I can promise you."

Vesemir shook his head. "I thought as much. You two have seemed more at ease around each other since, so clearly some good came out of it. You're lucky that's  _all_ that came out of it."

Geralt glared at the older man, peeved at being condescended to like he were an unruly child, but he knew the man was right.

"These dreams..." Vesemir began. "Are they prophecies, do you think?"

Geralt shrugged his shoulders with uncertainty and recounted the images he remembered from her dreams the past few nights.

In her dreams he'd seen the white expanse of ice and snow across the world. The two of them were trekking through it, but were in the forms they manifested frequently in her dreams: that of the white wolf and dragon.

The cold, stark desolation extended as far south as Nilfgaard, and farther. Cities were frozen in ice, livestock starved or just died from exposure, the citizens of the Northern Kingdoms were gripped by famine.

He'd seen visions of the other sides, as well. He'd seen the baking heat of droughts overtaking her own world, its inhabitants still struggling to recover from the blights wrought upon it by the evil creatures she called the Darkspawn.

He'd seen a third world equally entrenched in a bitter winter like his own and overrun by monsters, some familiar to him and some utterly alien.

He'd heard the resonant dream-like voices of the ones she referred to as the Old Gods and their incessant beckoning that was almost a plea for help.

The look on Vesemir's face had grown darker the more he described, and the other men were looking at him with astonishment.

"Wolf, if she's become a Source, you don't want to tempt fate by disregarding those visions," Vesemir said.

Geralt nodded gravely. "I'll begin making preparations tomorrow. We'll leave within the week."

* * *

He found her late in the afternoon the next day, soaking in the hot water in the pool at the bottom of the fortress. She was staring blankly at the flickering flame of a brazier that sat beside the pool.

He padded in soft leather-booted feet over to the corner she sat in. His leather leggings creaked when he knelt down next to the edge of the pool beside her.

"Solona, you've been in here for hours, you should come out to eat at least," he said.

She shuddered in the water, causing little ripples to cascade out from her body. "It's too fucking cold up there. This is the only place I can stay warm anymore."

She turned her head to look up at him with a pleading expression. Her now shoulder-length curly white hair trailed into the water behind her. He could see the curve of her soft, white shoulders and the swell of her breasts dipping beneath the surface of the water and longed to touch her. He'd gotten used to the idea that his longing for her would never die. It was in his blood, he knew. He let out a soft sigh. He picked up the blanket he'd brought down with him and held it out to her invitingly.

"I'll make sure you're warm enough. Come on." He gestured with his head.

He stooped to reach out a hand to her, holding the blanket loosely in his other hand.

She scowled at him but obeyed. She stood up and took his hand, then stepped gracefully out of the water, turning her back to him. He immediately wrapped the blanket around her naked body and held her before him, rubbing her arms and sides briskly to dry her.

Solona leaned back against him and sighed. Her damp hair tickled at the side of his face, catching on the bristle of his unshaven cheek. She spoke in a dreamy voice that made him feel equally aroused and tortured.

"I feel warm enough when you're beside me, Geralt. You and I together can make it warm enough. It's what we were meant to do."

"I know," he said gruffly, his voice hitching slightly.

He found her clothes and started to help her dress when she gave him a wry look. "I can dress myself, I'm not an invalid... yet."

"Do you know what's happening to you?" he asked, taking advantage of the rare moment of lucidity when she actually seemed to be wholly herself for a change.

Solona sighed, "The pull from them has been stronger since Midwinter. And then when I took the last mutagen, it's as though they're all I can hear sometimes. They're only dreams, Geralt, but they're dreams I can see when I'm awake, and they're so  _powerful_. I almost don't know who I am when they're in my head. It's... frightening sometimes, but almost soothing at the same time."

She grew quiet for several moments while she dressed and he could sense the tension building in her from her increasingly abrupt motions while she fastened her clothing and tied up her boots.

Finally she erupted in a tense and desperate voice, looking at him with tears clearly visible in her eyes, "We have to  _save them_. We have to save  _everyone_!" Her voice quavered, "I... I know how to do this, but feeling their desperation sometimes it just makes it harder to bear. They feel so helpless, trapped where they are. It's up to us to get them out. Three worlds, Geralt.  _Three worlds depend on us!_ "

She broke down entirely and all he could do was reach out and pull her into his arms while she wept.

* * *

Their dream voices were almost constant now. So much so it was becoming difficult for her to focus on even the most mundane tasks like eating or bathing.

When she would sleep, the dreams were vivid and distressing. The one saving grace was that now she could feel Geralt in her dreams as a constant, comforting presence. She wasn't sure if she was drawing him in, or if he was reaching out to her unconsciously in his sleep, but having his presence amidst the harsh landscapes of her dreams made her feel a little less overwhelmed by what she witnessed.

She existed in a fugue-like state for days, only having a few short respites in which the voices finally would subside. During those moments she would first sit briefly enjoying the silence before her mind would frantically begin going over the things she needed to accomplish before their departure.

She was in such a frenzy one afternoon when Geralt showed up in her room.

"Stop, Solona," he said grabbing her hands and forcing her to release the items she was holding. "Just relax. I can make the plans, I can pack everything. Why don't you go down to the armory and spar with Bekim – he needs the practice, and you clearly need to burn off some energy."

She looked into his eyes for about a heartbeat too long and felt the familiar surge of  _need_  in her that was clearly reflected in his own eyes. For a split second she was sure he was about to kiss her and she abruptly turned and left without a word, leaving him holding her belongings.

She found Bekim and Lambert in the armory and joined them for a time. When the call for supper came, she opted to stay behind. Sparring had done her good, and had seemed to clear her head, leaving her more focused than she'd been earlier. When she felt the voices begin to return during a rest, she immediately grabbed her staff again where it was leaning against the bench beside her and began another series of choreographed attacks on a training dummy. The voices didn't subside entirely, but the act of carrying out the disciplined, practiced movements helped her to maintain her focus in spite of them.

After another couple hours of such activity she stood sweaty and breathless, leaning with her hands on her knees for a short rest, but loathe to stop moving. Every time she paused to even catch her breath, the din of their pleas would return forcefully in her mind.

She shook her head savagely and let out a frustrated roar. She lifted her head, aiming her staff at the training dummy. She pulled a measure of magical energy out of the air around her and sent it surging through her staff at her target.

The training dummy exploded in a cloud of feathers and wisps of burlap that floated to the ground, reminding her a little of the wraiths they had killed weeks earlier. She felt immeasurably better after the outburst. She stood panting and surveying the destruction as the remains of the training dummy settled to the floor.

"That was... impressive," she heard Lambert's voice from behind her. "Remind me not to sneak up on you in an alleyway."

She smirked to herself and turned to give him a sardonic look. "Surely you've seen more impressive displays from Triss."

She hadn't stopped needling him about Triss over the past few weeks when they were alone. He'd finally given up and started talking to her, his reservation gradually lessening as he shared his observations of the pretty red-haired sorceress.

He shrugged. "She's good. Just... different. She won't get up close if she can help it." He paused for a second before saying, "She's allergic to it, you know... that's why she never uses glamours on herself."

Solona asked, "Allergic... to magic? How is that possible?"

He shrugged, "I don't know, but she gets violently ill if magic is used  _on_ her. It makes it tricky if she gets injured. Potions work, at least."

He looked her in the eyes and said, "I don't trust most sorceresses... they practice deception as a rule, in my experience. Triss is... different. She's  _honest_. Whatever you see when you first look at her is the real thing. You're like her in that way, actually."

Lambert chuckled softly and said, "She's also not as good with weapons as she is with magic. She's a complete klutz if you put a weapon in her hands. You're definitely unlike the average sorceress."

"I've had good teachers," Solona said.

"You're a good student," he replied.

She walked over to the bench and sat, pulling her damp hair up in a tail at the back of her head and securing it with a leather thong. A few unruly curls sprang free, fringing her face. She looked up at him where he leaned in the doorway of the armory.

"I'm going to miss you, Lambert," she said. "I'm going to miss everyone, but you mostly."

His expression grew tender and he strode over and sat on the bench beside her, grabbing her hand and holding it tightly in his own.

"Solona, you are a remarkable woman," he began, and she listened to him earnestly awaiting his words of wisdom.

He continued. "I've been utterly overwhelmed by your irritating presence hounding me day in and day out ever since we met. I still feel a little twinge in my nose from time to time where you broke it... in case you forgot about that." He squeezed the bridge of his nose and glanced at her, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She gave him a shocked look and said indignantly, "You were asking for it, and you know it.  _Queen of Geralt's cock._ " She snorted and elbowed him in the ribs.

He let out a loud "oof" and said through a laugh as he turned to look at her, "Well, you have to admit I was right. But I am actually going to miss you as well."

"You'd better," she said with a grin and slung one arm around his waist, then dropped her head to his shoulder with a sigh.

"Take care of yourself, Lambert," she said. She felt him nod softly and his arm came up around her shoulders, squeezing gently.

* * *

Four days later they had their horses packed with the supplies they would need for their journey.

"We could go with you, Wolf," Lambert reiterated. Geralt only shook his head, glancing at Solona who'd already made her goodbyes and now sat atop her horse bundled up in her freshly repaired dragonhide armor and her cloak, which he knew were much warmer than they appeared.

"No, brother, we'll travel more quickly this way. Thank you, though." He grasped fists and hugged his brothers and Vesemir.

When he reached Bekim, he paused, looking the boy over. The boy had filled out over the last few months and Geralt was starting to see a hint of the man he might become. He still had an unfinished quality to him, but nothing another year of training wouldn't take care of.

"You've learned much these past months. I'm proud of you. Keep it up. With any luck we'll be back to teach you more before your trials."

Bekim beamed at him and returned his strong embrace, then stooped down to accept an affectionate goodbye from Lusa. He looked almost mournful to see the dog go.

"Take care, Wolf," Vesemir said, waving as Geralt strode to his horse and mounted. Geralt turned to look at Solona and she smiled back at him, but her eyes seemed distant. He only hoped that she would be able to fight if it came to it.

It began snowing again as they descended into the frozen valley below Kaer Morhen and began heading south.


	26. Old Scars

_One month later. Four months until Midsummer. Outskirts of Ard Carraigh._

* * *

_Geralt was dreaming of summer again._

_He could feel the sweltering heat around him. The steady buzz of summer insects assaulted his sensitive ears. The hot sun beat down on him relentlessly._

_It took a moment to dawn on him that he was lucid. This wasn't his usual summertime dream of Solona that ended with her mounting him in the middle of a thunderstorm. He realized he was the wolf again and that this was one of her dreams, but not a dream he had seen before. This dream felt pleasant, aside from the intense heat; not foreboding like the winter dreams._

_He was standing in a field across from a rustic farmhouse built in a style that wasn't familiar to him. He could hear lightly accented voices speaking from the other side of the farmhouse, one stern and deep, two others lighter and more inquisitive._

_From the back of the farmhouse he heard a delighted whoop and a pair of lithe young figures went tearing across the field past him. As they flew by he saw that one was a pretty red-haired young woman, the other a well-built, dark-haired young man. He started to follow, but before he turned away from the farmhouse he saw the figure of a tall, solidly built man step around the corner and watch the two race each other across the field. The man shook his head and smiled, raking his fingers through thinning salt-and-pepper hair. His smile grew sorrowful as he turned to walk into the house, his figure disappearing into the shadows._

_The wolf turned and loped through the field, his nose searching out the scents of the young man and woman. He tracked them to a small, hidden cove by the shore of a nearby lake. They left their clothing in a pile on the sandy beach and charged into the water, both diving beneath the surface when they were in deep enough. Their horseplay was delightfully innocent as they splashed each other and dove and swam beneath the water, but they would cast curious, surreptitious glances at the other from time to time._

_After some time, they tired of their play and drifted aimlessly around in the water on their backs, moving with slow, languid strokes. The young man turned his head to face the girl. His voice cracked slightly when he spoke._

_"Sol..." the young man began hesitantly. "Do you ever... do you ever think about, um, sex?" He cast another curious, lingering look at the girl where she floated on her back in the water. The sunlight glistened on the water that still coated her naked, tanned skin._

_"What?" she replied, trailing her arms through the water and swimming in a slow side stroke towards him where he floated nearby. She set her feet down on the sandy bottom beneath the clear, shoulder-deep water and faced him. He was several inches taller than her when he stood up before her. His broad shoulders and chest were fully out of the water and his dark, wet hair stood up on end when he scrubbed his head distractedly with one hand._

_He looked at her for a second, his clear blue eyes meeting her golden-hued ones, then he looked away, a bright flush creeping up his neck and coloring his cheeks._

_He trailed his fingers through the water distractedly, then cleared his throat and looked her in the eyes again with determination._

_"Will you do it. With me?" he asked boldly._

_She looked shocked. "Garrett... we... I don't know..." Her voice trailed off and she tilted her head, looking at him curiously. "Don't you have a thing for what's-her-face? What about her? And we're cousins."_

_He pursed his lips. "She won't even give me the time of day, Sol, you know that. I know you're my cousin... second cousin if you want to get technical. But you're also my best friend. I just thought we could... try it together. If you want."_

_Her eyes narrowed and she regarded him quietly for a moment._

_"Okay," she said._

_He looked surprised by her response and stared at her dumbfounded for a few seconds. She laughed at him and grabbed his hand._

_"Come on, dummy. Maker help us, do I have to do everything?" She smirked over her shoulder at him as she pulled him out of the water._

_She led him to a large overhang of rock under which they'd built a little mini-fortress out of deadwood and odds and ends brought from home over the years. The area was well used and clearly familiar to them both. She pulled a couple ragged wool blankets out of a crate and shook them out. He helped her spread them on the bare dirt in the center of their shady sanctuary._

_He hesitantly spoke, "Are you sure about this Sol? I heard it's supposed to hurt for a girl's first time."_

_She looked at him quizzically, "You're the one who asked, Garrett. Don't tell me you're backing out after only five minutes. I'm not afraid. Are you?"_

_He looked at her appraisingly where she stood before him, naked and challenging with one hand on her slender hip, her elbow cocked out to the side. Her red hair had already started to dry and curl slightly in the sweltering afternoon heat._

_He shook his head and smiled. "No, I'm not afraid. I just wanted to be sure. I had a feeling you'd say yes."_

" _You know me. I love a challenge." She looked at him with a glint in her eyes as she knelt down on the blankets._

_He knelt facing her and sat looking into her eyes for a moment, uncertain where to begin._

_She laughed nervously. "You're the boy, I think you're supposed to start," she said. "If you want me to, I will. But this was your idea," she reminded him._

_He looked at her with an exasperated expression, then scooted closer to her until their knees touched. He rested one hand on her bare shoulder and leaned in, pressing his lips to hers tentatively. She kissed him back, then pulled away._

" _Do you have any idea what you're doing?" she asked._

" _No clue at all," he said with a slightly embarrassed smile. "Well, I have a vague idea of how it works... I mean, we're not all that different from... other... beasts, where parts are concerned. But... I could use some help?" His final phrase almost sounded like a plea._

_She gazed into his eyes, a small smile tugging at one side of her mouth._

" _Touch me," she said softly._

_She gripped his hand and pulled it up to her small, pink-tipped breast. He held his hand where she placed it, squeezing gently. He seemed mesmerized and stared down at her soft flesh as his fingertips began exploring. He brought his other hand up and gripped her other breast. When his thumbs drifted over their tips he was surprised by the soft gasp that erupted from her and looked up to meet her eyes. He repeated the small caress while he looked at her._

" _Does that feel good?" he asked, his voice low and husky. She nodded, holding his gaze._

_He looked back down at the pliant flesh he held in his hands and impulsively dipped his head and wrapped his lips around one dusky pink peak._

" _Oh!" she exclaimed, snaking her fingers through his damp hair._

_He pulled back and looked at her with a small, surprised smile._

" _Did you like that?" he asked._

" _Yes," she said breathlessly._

" _I like how hard they get when I touch them," he said._

_She snickered softly. "You know what else is hard right now?"_

_She reached out a hand and grabbed hold of him between the thighs. He grunted and his hips twitched at the contact. He began to pant softly when she slid her palm up his length and touched his tip gently with her fingertips. She gave him a sly smile and then bent her head down to his hips, grasping his tip between her lips._

" _Oh, uh... huh," he grunted incoherently and his hips jerked involuntarily towards her, pushing further into her mouth. His flesh quivered and spasmed. Her face grew surprised and confused at the same time, but she didn't release him. Instead she swallowed the thick, salty fluids and then licked his tip clean before sitting back again._

_He sat staring at her with a shocked expression and she just grinned at him._

" _Did you like that?" she asked, echoing his earlier question._

_He just nodded with wide eyes and then shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He took a deep breath. Then another. "Wow," he said and stared at her with a look of amazement._

" _Wow," he said again after a moment._

_She giggled at him. "I'll have to remember that," she said._

_He grinned back at her. "Can I try it on you?"_

_Her brows drew together in confusion. "But I don't have a... you know."_

" _No, but you've got to have something down there. I want to know what it tastes like. And if it makes you feel the way that felt to me."_

_She looked at him skeptically, but lay back on the blankets and spread her thighs eagerly._

_He positioned between her legs and bent over her, spreading her open with a gentle touch and just looking for a moment, uncertain where to begin. He bent and gave her a tentative lick, then another. On the third, she twitched and let out a soft gasp. He repeated the motion with deliberate attention and got a similar, but more intense response. He bent his head over her, concentrating on the sensitive spot he'd discovered._

_Within moments she cried out and her hips bucked against his mouth. He laughed against her parted flesh._

" _Be still, Sol! I'm not done yet."_

_She let out a soft moan and gripped his head, holding him against her. He flicked his tongue out once more, teasing her and causing her to whimper slightly._

" _Does that mean I'm done?" he asked, his voice muffled by her flesh._

" _Uh huh," she murmured. Her skin glistened with sweat from the heat and her chest heaved as she gasped for breath. She finally released her grip on his head and he pulled back._

" _Can I be inside you now?" he asked softly. He moved up between her thighs and gazed down at her._

_She smiled up at him and nodded, pulling his sweaty body down atop her own. She urged him inside her with a sharp gasp and a grimace of pain. Within a moment, quick breaths interspersed by moans of pleasure began to rise up from them both._

_When the two young lovers merged, the wolf turned away. He became acutely aware of the stifling heat of the afternoon. It was furnace-hot and there was no respite of a summer rainstorm to quench this heat._

_His ears twitched at the sounds still drifting towards him. He knew she'd had other lovers. Even his own best friend was counted among their numbers, which he still found amusing rather than troubling, but witnessing this interlude that he knew must have been from her past had triggered an irrational possessiveness in him. Seeing another man take her for the first time, no matter how young and innocent they had been, was torture. And he seemed to be trapped in this furnace of a locale while he listened to them together, discovering each other for the first time._

_Unable to do anything else, he let out a fierce howl into the growing sunset and repeated it until the heat of the dream released him._

* * *

When the dream finally faded Geralt was gripped by the icy chill of a draft seeping into their tent and the sound of the tent flap whipping in the wind. The stark contrast to the heat of the dream left him shivering and he reached for Solona's warm body, only to find her bed roll empty and cold.

He sat up and looked around the still dark interior of the tent. She wasn't there.

He cursed under his breath and quickly threw on his warmer clothes and boots before scrambling out of the tent. He cursed out loud when he found her kneeling naked before the dead campfire, shivering and nearly blue from the cold. Her eyes were half-lidded and glazed, and her hands were clutching her upper arms tightly. Her white curls trailed across her face in the chill, snowy wind blowing around her.

"Dammit, Solona. What were you thinking?"

Of course he knew she hadn't been thinking. She'd gone to sleep exhausted from the effort of maintaining control of her own sanity. She must have lost touch sometime during the night.

_It probably started with that dream,_  he thought.

"Garrett..." he heard her mumble through numb lips.

"I'm here," Geralt said, stooping down to lift her into his arms and carry her back into the tent. He swiftly wrapped a blanket around her and sat with her on his lap, rubbing her briskly with his hands through the blanket.

"Garrett, keep them safe," he heard her murmur and realized it hadn't been his own name she'd spoken through numbed lips. He winced as he remembered the dream in all its brutal detail. She was clearly lost in some other dream or vision with this  _Garrett_. Her eyes were half open and staring into space.

He finally remembered where he'd heard the name before. He recalled her speaking with some affection once or twice of the cousin she'd been raised with, but she'd rarely shared details. She had never shared details as intimate as what he had witnessed.

She had been so beautiful in the vision. Radiant in the bright sunlight; bold and fearless and completely shameless even then. He guessed she must have been around sixteen. Barely a woman, but mature enough to know what she wanted. And strong-willed enough to intimidate most boys her own age, but this particular boy had seemed unfazed by her direct attitude.

_Garrett Hawke_ , he remembered the name now. He had looked like he possessed a will as strong as Solona's. Geralt was somehow certain their wills had clashed frequently. But Garrett Hawke had known her in her innocence, and had shared in her discovery.

Geralt felt a surge of jealous regret and cursed himself for his reaction. How could he be feeling regret over missing a part of her life he could never have known anyway?

She was still murmuring her cousin's name every few minutes, her voice pleading. Whatever vision she was having now was clearly distressing to her, but Geralt didn't dare try to interfere. He'd attempted to enter her mind once during an episode and had just found himself sucked in, powerless to affect her. He knew if he tried now he could only be an observer and didn't think he wanted another reminder so soon of how much of her past he wasn't aware of.

Her mental defenses were much stronger than his, which made these lapses in her control all the more distressing to him. The spirits that called to her had to be immensely powerful beings to be able to affect her so profoundly. She  _did_ refer to them as  _gods_ , which he didn't believe was true, but that didn't mean they weren't as powerful as a god might be, if there was such a thing as a god.

Geralt continued his attempts to warm her, rocking her gently against him. After some time he realized she was still shivering violently. He laid her down on his bedroll and covered her as snugly as he could, then stripped to his breeches and wrapped himself around her beneath their blankets. She was so cold, but her shivering began to ease almost instantly when his body heat began seeping into her.

She spoke the boy's name again. He clenched his eyelids shut in frustration. He had an irrational need to make her remember  _him_. He began speaking to her as he rubbed his hands down over her bare arms and back trying to warm her.

"Solona, remember when you saved my life, and we made love in the bath afterwards? You told me that you were my destiny. I thought it was a joke. I didn't believe you then, but I know now that you spoke the truth."

Her shivering had finally ceased. He heard her laugh weakly and smiled with relief when he realized he was reaching her.

"You knew deep down that I was right, didn't you?" she asked, her voice slightly slurred from the cold still gripping her tongue.

"I just knew I had a beautiful woman in bed with me who thought she was my destiny. I was milking it for all it was worth."

She laughed again, sounding a bit stronger.

"I think you just like a challenge," she said. "Saving the world is right up your alley."

His first impulse was to object but he stopped himself, realizing that she was right. He'd been conflicted for most of his life about the witchers' mandate. For the first time he knew he was beyond it and the feeling was liberating. He could do more by her side. He was  _meant_  to do more by her side than just be the killer he'd been since he'd completed his own changes.

"I think you're right," he said, not even trying to hide the note of amazement in his voice.

"I know I'm right," she said, and turned over in his arms. Her eyes met his and he gazed back into their golden depths. She smirked at his astonished expression.

"You're only just figuring this out now, aren't you?" she said. "Geralt, if my visions have shown me anything it's that we're bound together. You're with me in all of the visions, in some form or another. Every single one. I have a feeling you'll be with me until the end – whenever that is."

His brow creased. "Did you see me in the one you just had – the swimming one?"

"No," she said. "But I knew you were there. And I heard you near the end."

Her eyes told him that she'd heard his torment, too. He cut his gaze away from hers, trying to avoid her steady, searching look.

"Was it the heat of the dream that drew you out of bed to sit out in the snow like a madwoman?"

She let out a little laugh at his question. "I don't know. I wasn't entirely in control, but it felt like swimming in cool water to me when the chill air hit. It was refreshing after the heat of the dream. I don't remember Ferelden summers being that hot before. Not even that particular summer."

"So, it was a memory?" he asked cautiously. He began gently rubbing her bare back beneath the blanket. She was still very cold to the touch, but her skin felt nice against his hand. Too nice, but not nearly as distracting as the memory of the dream he'd just shared with her.

She nodded and studied his face for a moment, her expression concerned. He wondered if she could read his mood even though he was trying not to let it show on his face. She could have easily reached into his mind to know what he was thinking but was grateful that she didn't.

She reached up a hand from beneath the blankets and lightly traced the scar that extended from his brow down his cheek. The sensation of her fingertips on his skin caused gooseflesh to spring up over his entire body. He closed his eyes when he felt his groin tightening in response to her touch.

Quietly she said, "You still feel the wounds sometimes, don't you? The pain never fully fades, no matter how much time passes."

He nodded and turned his head to kiss her palm when she paused to rest her hand against his stubbled cheek.

She took a deep breath and continued speaking while idly tracing the scars that covered his skin. He didn't think she realized what sweet torture it was to have her touching him like that, but he wasn't about to make her stop.

She said, "I think dreams can be like that sometimes. Memories, even pleasant ones, are the marks left behind from our experiences. Dreams of them are the subtle twinge when something happens to remind us of the past. The visions I've been having of my home have brought them back for me. I haven't thought about that day for years, to be honest."

He studied her intently while she spoke. When she was finished, he gripped her hand in his own to still the tormenting caresses on his skin.

He said, "You cared deeply for each other."

She nodded and smiled a wistful smile. "Garrett and I were a lot of things to each other. Best friends, confidants, sparring partners. Rivals in a lot of ways. Lovers, eventually. The time we spent together will always be a pleasant memory. But it's the past. I wouldn't trade any of my moments with you to bring back the past, no matter how much I might miss him. Just knowing he's in the world somewhere – likely being heroic, which was always his nature – is enough for me."

She snuggled closer to him, twining one leg around his and pressing her cheek to his bare chest. His arms tightened around her, enjoying the closeness while it lasted, but acutely aware that she was completely naked as she pressed herself against him. The pressure of her bare breasts against his chest incited all manner of ideas in his mind.

He tried to distract himself with planning. They had supplies to last them another couple weeks. If she was lucid they would need to be on the road again soon. At least it was some consolation that her episodes seemed to be decreasing in duration.

He lowered his lips to the top of her head and kissed her, then murmured into her hair, "As good as it feels to hold you like this, I fear we're tempting fate by lingering in bed half-naked." One of his large hands slid down her back and gave her bare behind a soft pinch.

"Or  _all_  naked. Do you feel well enough to get going?"

She nodded against him and playfully flicked her tongue over his nipple causing him to jerk with surprise. He growled at her but resisted retaliation, knowing things would only escalate if he tried anything. He disentangled himself from her limbs and pulled back, meeting her teasing gaze with one that made clear his frustration – as if it wasn't already painfully apparent from the bulge pushing at the front of his breeches.

"You do enjoy testing me, don't you," he grumbled while he stood and began donning his clothing again. He tossed hers to her so she could dress beneath the warmth of the covers.

"I have to make sure you're still interested. It wouldn't do us any good if we get to the ritual and you can't get it up for me anymore."

"Perish the thought," he said dryly.

His expression grew frustrated again and he sighed, then muttered towards his crotch, "After this trip, I can guarantee I'll be able to do my part when we get there."

He was heartened by her attitude this morning, at least. She seemed to be up to her old tricks which was a good sign. During the last few weeks there had been intermittent periods when she was utterly absent, and others when she would sit astride her horse muttering nonsense. He'd have to grab Ghost's reins and lead the horse down the road behind him when she would lose the ability to steer on her own.

They tore down their little camp and packed the horses, then prepared to mount and begin riding south again.

They were only half a day's ride from Ard Carraigh, but he had insisted they stay out of the cities after hearing some unsettling rumours in one of the northern townships they'd stopped in on their trip so far.

Since they'd been at Kaer Morhen, word of the White Queen had spread, as well as several highly exaggerated stories of her exploits based on the songs Dandelion had written about her.

He'd found a very interesting poster while buying supplies in one small town once they reached the mouth of the valley west of Kaer Morhen. The poster boasted details about her that were flattering to a large degree. He likened it to religious tracts the more questionable sects would pass around occasionally trying to gain interest in whatever ridiculous cause they stood for. People seemed to almost revere her already judging by the paper he held in his hand.

"I never did  _that_ ," she objected after hearing Geralt recount one of the more outlandish stories he'd heard and gazing over his shoulder at the creased paper he held in his hand.

"You did kill two dragons... you told me so," he said. "I've only fought one dragon in my entire life, and I'm about five times as old as you."

"Yes. But only two. And I had an entire army to help with one of them. That story makes me sound like a  _god_  or something." She pointed at the poster he held, which included an image that was supposed to be her own figure and said, "And I definitely don't know how to shoot fireballs from my  _eyes_. And you've seen me... I'm  _average_. Nothing at all like that awful picture.  _That_  looks like a crazed whore with a leather fetish."

He looked her up and down with a serious expression. She was decidedly  _not_  average in that outfit, with those gorgeous white locks curling over her shoulders and her witcher eyes.

Although the picture in question was artfully rendered, he didn't think it did her beauty justice. Her breasts were much smaller – just the perfect size, by his estimation – and her nose was a bit longer, and her chin a bit wider, and her smile a bit kinder. And there were no fireballs shooting out of her eyes... at the moment.

_Give it time,_ he thought with a smirk as he regarded her, but he remembered with a sudden pang of dread what had happened with Henselt on their journey north. This is what troubled him most. In spite of the positive slant her growing fame seemed to have, hew knew the recognition could be dangerous.

He hoped they didn't need to worry about Henselt any longer after the favor she'd done for him, but the other monarchs and regents in the land were like rabid dogs when it came to gaining an advantage over each other. If word of her presence was so widespread he knew they needed to tread carefully while they traveled.

He began to insist that she keep her hood up whenever possible, and keep her dark wool scarf wrapped around her head to cover her hair when they were in more populated areas. The populace was accustomed to seeing him pass through, so he wasn't concerned with his own appearance, but a woman who looked as she did was definitely going to attract notice.

At the moment she was dressed in her usual dragonhide armor, but with a drab tunic and skirt covering the soft leather. He'd bought a cheap black wool cloak in one of the towns they stopped in and spent an evening attaching the fabric to her dragonhide cloak. She would be warmer and she'd catch less notice dressed to look like a beleaguered winter traveler.

Unfortunately there wasn't much he could do about the dog. He gazed thoughtfully at Lusa who met his eyes and gave him an inquisitory "woof" while wiggling his stump-tailed behind. There were dogs in his world, but none that looked quite so much like a monster as this one did. He just hoped the dog hadn't been noticed on their trip north.

"Nothing for it now," he muttered as he adjusted his saddle and mounted in a swift, graceful motion, his leg brushing off a light layer of snow that had accumulated on the horse's backside. Roach let out a little huff when he settled his weight in his saddle. Vapor billowed out of her nostrils and she twitched her ears, then turned her head back to look at him impatiently with wide, dark eyes.

"Sorry to make you wait," he muttered at the horse, who snorted and shook her head in response. He dug his heels in and made a light clucking noise with his tongue and they got moving down the snowy road.

* * *

When she mounted her horse, Solona immediately began the series of exercises she'd begun doing daily in an attempt to control her mental state. Strangely, the use of magic seemed to give her more control over the power the voices had over her. She still couldn't control her reactions while she slept, however, especially if the previous evening was any indication.

She drew magic in from the air around her and held it, like she was holding a breath. While the power was inside her it seemed to infuse her body and her mind and she could feel the voices receding. Then she would release the magic in a slow stream of force aimed up into the air through gloved fingertips.

She would repeat this over and over, resting only briefly to regain her energy. After a few hours of practice she could usually last the rest of the day without feeling the Old Gods' pleas pulling at her mind again, even though she could still sense them. Drawing magic from this world was much easier than her own world, but it was still exhausting practice. With each day she could feel her capacity for it growing stronger, and the voices remained subdued longer.

She glanced at Geralt who seemed to be having a small conversation with Lusa before mounting his horse.

She smiled. His bearing seemed different now than when she'd first met him. She thought the conversation they'd had earlier might have something to do with his more relaxed demeanor.

"Geralt," she said as she shot a blast of force into the sky, causing the boughs above them to shake and making the snow gathered on the branches drift down into a cloud around her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You seemed so... relieved earlier. Is the idea of saving the world – the  _worlds_ – and following me into mortal peril really that much better than the life you've had?"

Roach trotted ahead of Ghost, eager to get moving. He scolded the horse, holding her back. Their horses walked side by side for a time while Geralt contemplated his answer.

"You know Witcher life isn't easy. You've seen how we live. We're not human, we live on the fringes, scraping by a living trying to keep the monsters at bay. You've seen some of the fights yourself."

She nodded and blasted a cone of snow off a fencepost, making Lusa go galloping off the side of the road hunting for the elusive projectile.

"They were pretty intense fights," she said. "And you usually don't have help."

"No, we usually don't. And it feels all the more solitary an endeavor when we're faced with moral dilemmas. Monsters are one thing, but we… or I, anyway… somehow manage to get roped into the most convoluted political conflicts. It makes me wish for a monster to fight when I get stuck in it."

She snorted softly and uncurled her fingers to blast another pile of snow off a fencepost, sending Lusa further along, thinking he'd finally found his quarry.

"I understand  _that_  all too well," she said. "I think we're both cursed with some irrational need to do more, so we let ourselves get sucked in, and then we're forced to talk our way out. Or cut our way out by force if necessary. Cutting is probably the more expedient option, I think."

He let out a low chuckle. "Yes. Unfortunately that's not always the best option. But to answer your question, this is the first time in my life I've been given a reason to fight for something I truly believed in."

She studied him for a moment, then just nodded and continued her exercises.

They rode in silence for a time, then she said, "You never told me about the dragon you killed. Was it just another monster?"

"No... Dragons aren't monsters. And I didn't kill her." His tone grew somber and she turned her head to look at him curiously while she drew in more magic.

"Dragons – at least in this world – are like us. They're... creatures who get involved. They care about each other. They form close relationships with others – not just their own kind. They love. They hate. They're motivated by their connections with their world. Some can take the form of humans, too, if they choose to."

She let out another burst of magic into a nearby snowdrift. She said, "But you fought one of them. Did you have some quarrel with it?"

"With  _her_... her name was Saskia.  _Saessenthesis_ was her true name. All she wanted was to make a better world for her followers. People who were as deserving of a better world as any of us are. She was under the influence of a sorceress and she gave me no choice but to fight her. I had to get close enough to free her from the spell."

"And you succeeded?"

He nodded, then sat in broody silence as their horses plodded down the trail.

After a moment Solona said, "You saved her and released her from the influence of the sorceress, yet you seem like you still regret it."

He shook his head. "No, I don't regret saving her. It wasn't her I was thinking about. I knew her father."

She turned to look at him again. "Her father... did they both live as humans?"

Geralt nodded.

"I haven't seen him in years. The last time I saw him, he was in his true form. His dragon form. Yennefer... " He spoke the name and a pained look crossed his face. He took a deep breath before continuing. "Yennefer was with me. She wanted me to kill him. She was insistent. Something about dragon blood curing infertility."

"She wanted to have a child with you," Solona said.

"Yes. It was a bit of an obsession for her. I never really understood it. She wasn't exactly the maternal type."

"But you refused..." Solona ventured.

"He was my friend," he stated simply. "I wouldn't have killed him. She may as well have asked me to kill Dandelion. I always thought I would do anything for her, but I think that's the moment things changed between us. My feelings changed. I saw her for who she really was."

"But I thought you loved her at the end... when she died."

"I did. That wasn't something I could stop doing, in spite of her nature. I'd seen her at her worst and I still loved her, but that... I couldn't forgive her for asking that of me."

"What happened after that?" Solona asked.

"Nothing... I let him go. She was angry. She forgave me... eventually. At least she pretended to."

Solona rode along in silence, but after some time couldn't contain her question any longer.

"Was she always like that? That... self involved, I mean." She tried to temper her tone so her real question wasn't obvious:  _How could you love someone like that?_

She loosed a quick blast from her fingertips that came out a bit more forcefully than she'd intended and the fencepost she aimed it at exploded in a shower of splintered wood. She winced. So much for disguising her feelings.

Geralt seemed to choose his words carefully. "Yes and no. She had her moments. We all have our moments."

He seemed to be struggling to find something nice to say about the woman in question. If he'd loved her, how could it be so difficult?

Finally he let out a sigh and looked at her. "I was a different man when I met her. I was damaged, she was damaged. We fit together then. We made sense, and I didn't really think about the kind of person she was. When Ciri came into the picture everything changed. My priorities changed. Hers changed. Everything changed after that. That's when she became obsessed with having a child."

"She was jealous of Ciri," Solona said.

He didn't speak for a moment. Finally he said, "Yes. But she made an effort to be a mother to her in spite of it. I don't think she did it for Ciri's sake, but for my sake."

"Why for your sake?"

"Because I loved Ciri like a daughter. Her presence changed me. I found a measure of humanity I hadn't believed I could possess before she became a part of my life. I think Yennefer wanted that for herself, too, and believed the only way to get it would be to have a child of her own."

"I wish I'd known her," she said quietly. "Ciri, I mean. She sounds like she was a remarkable girl. From what you've told me, she reminds me of myself when I was younger."

She gave Geralt a sidelong glance and saw him smiling.

"Yes, you're actually a lot like her. I wish you could have known her, too."

"How old was she when she died?"

"Too young," was all he said.

After a moment he continued to speak, his voice rough with emotion. "She was... special. She had visions... like you. Eredin wanted her for her elven blood... took her, even. But she managed to escape. She was tenacious. A brutal killer at times, too. But she always seemed to understand what was most important. Even until the very end."

"I'm sorry you lost her," Solona said softly.

"It was her choice," Geralt said.

Solona could sense the pain in him and ached to reach out and comfort him. She'd had her share of loss, but couldn't imagine what it felt like to lose a child. Her own mother had committed suicide over losing her, so she believed it must be a far more painful thing to endure than other types of loss.

Not knowing what else to do at the moment she made a decision. Instead of blasting snow about, she expended a bit of energy to project a series of positive images from her past into his mind. All her happiest moments flooded out of her and into him.

He closed his eyes for several moments, then let out a sigh and turned to look at her, saying, "Yes, you would have liked Ciri."


	27. Crossroads

_Three weeks later. 12 weeks until Midsummer. Outskirts of Ban Glean, on the border between Kaedwen and Aedirn_

* * *

They heard the rumble of wagon wheels and the murmur of voices drifting through the crisp air behind them for some time before the caravan caught up to them. When it drew close, they could hear the familiar notes of one of Dandelion's songs drifting through the snowy air towards their ears.

"Shit," Geralt said under his breath as he steered Roach to the side of the road when the caravan came up behind them.

"What is it?" Solona asked, pulling her horse up next to him and adjusting her hood so her face was fully in shadow.

"Dandelion."

She gave him a sideways glance. "I thought you were best friends."

"He is my closest friend, but that doesn't mean I want him to know every detail of my life."

"You don't trust him?"

"I do. I know he means well, at least."

"But...?"

"But... all things considered, I would prefer fewer people knew where you were. Particularly people who have a habit of writing  _songs_  about us."

"Should I go... hide or something?" she asked with a wry expression he could just make out beneath her hood.

"No. We'll deal with this. Running now would cause more suspicion than staying put."

The caravan began to amble past. Most people were on foot, but several were riding atop overloaded wagons and a few were on horseback. They could hear the lively notes of a lute being plucked from somewhere near the back of the farthest wagon.

Geralt nodded at the lead wagon and the driver nodded back. When they were past, Solona saw the driver cut a quick glance backwards and say something to the man seated beside him, who looked back at them. She barely heard the man whisper  _witcher_  before they were out of earshot.

"What was that about?" Solona asked.

"They're probably hoping we join the caravan. Having a Witcher along for the ride usually means they'll make it to their destination safely. They won't outright ask, though, unless they're actively having issues with monsters. They don't want to pay us to be bodyguards."

"Are we going to join them?"

"No."

When she gave him a sharp glance, he amended his answer. "We'll stay close, but we won't camp with them. It's safer for you if we avoid large groups. They'll be more comfortable if we keep our distance, anyway."

She nodded.

A moment later she and Geralt both cringed when Lusa ran up beside her horse and started howling melodically as the last wagon in the caravan trundled past them.

There was a dissonant twang of lute strings and a purple-cloaked figure hopped off the back of the wagon and trotted over to them.

"Geralt! Is that you?"

The figure pushed his hood back displaying Dandelion's scruffy visage and dark, unruly hair. A huge grin was plastered on his face.

"Hello, Dandelion. Where's this group headed?" Geralt scanned the line of wagons.

The bard looked back at the line of wagons. "Not sure really. As far south as possible is the best I could figure out, which is good enough for me."

"Have you been in Ard Carraigh all this time?" Geralt asked.

"I had to stay for the wedding! Henselt's new queen was gloriously pregnant at the time. The king himself was a smug bastard. I think he deliberately waited until it was obvious before having the wedding, just to show off the fact that he had an heir on the way. I hear he has the White Queen herself to thank for it, too. At least that's the rumour."

With that he turned to look at Solona's cloaked figure, his eyes drifting over her tattered black cloak.

"Is that you under all those rags, Solona?" he asked, giving her a sly grin.

She pushed her hood back slightly so he could see her face.

"Hello, Dandelion," she said with a grin.

He beamed back at her. "You look beautiful as always. It's good to see you."

"Good to see you, too, Dandelion."

He turned to look back at the caravan that was now much further down the road.

"I hate to cut this short, but they're actually paying me for my company. You two will be camping nearby I hope? I'll try to catch up with you later. Oh, and Henselt sends his regards."

Geralt seemed surprised by Dandelion's last statement, but nodded and Dandelion gave them both a wave before jogging down the road to catch up with the tail of the caravan.

* * *

Solona awoke late that night to the sounds of terrified screams. She lurched out of her bedroll and immediately threw on her leathers and grabbed her staff. When she exited the tent she found Geralt already dressed with his silver sword drawn. Lusa waited attentively by his side with an eager look, warily sniffing the air.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Something's spooked them. A beast or monster of some sort from the sounds I could make out. It smells like a Leshy."

She inhaled through her nose and caught the slight whiff of a strong musky odor.

They ran several yards down the road to the clearing where the caravan had set up camp. Many of the campers were just emerging from their wagons or tents, curious about the noises. They gradually became more alarmed when they saw the damage wrought by the nocturnal invader.

In the center of the camp was a large firepit that was burned down to coals and there were three bodies lying bloody around it. Solona stopped quickly to see if they could be helped. They were all dead, their throats ripped out by whatever creature had attacked.

She saw a swift four-legged shadow streak by in the corner of her eye, the unmistakable shape of a small body clenched in its teeth. She turned quickly and pointed.

"There!"

They ran towards the spot where the shadow had disappeared into the woods. Their legs pumped and their feet crunched through hardened snow as they sped across the clearing to the edge of the woods, their cloaks streaming behind them.

"Solona, catch!" Geralt yelled and tossed a small object to her in the darkness. She snatched it out of the air, her hand a blur of movement. She quickly uncorked the small vial and tossed back the contents, swallowing as she continued to run.

Within seconds the darkness receded and the world around her was rendered in stark contrast. The shadows were non-existent. The trees and other objects of the forest were nearly white and the cold air between them dark gray. She could see the white specs of snowflakes drifting through the air around them.

She heard Lusa bark and turned to see their quarry running swiftly between the trees. It clawed its way up the trunk of one, then climbed among the branches above them, shaking mounds of snow from them to fall in clumps on the ground beneath it as it continued to run from them.

They made their way through the trees and she looked above them trying to locate it. It was still leaping from branch to branch, letting out loud snarls periodically. Lusa, with his ever reliable sense of smell that she was sure was still better than hers, even now, alerted them to its presence a moment later.

She found the creature hovering on a low branch nearby. It looked like a cross between a cat and a bear, its ears twitching. Its scent finally hit her sensitive nostrils and she flinched. It smelled atrocious.

She saw Geralt begin to carefully navigate around to the other side of the tree the creature was hiding in, his silver sword unsheathed and glinting in the moonlight. He signaled to her when he reached his destination. He wanted her to distract it. She nodded back at him and her staff began to glow with power as she drew magic out of the air around her.

It turned its head and growled, low and menacing around the small body still clutched in its jaws. It seemed unwilling to let go of its prey, which appeared to be a small child – already dead from the looks of it. Then she met its eyes and saw what lurked in their depths and she knew she couldn't let the creature live. It was more than just a beast. It was an intelligent, vindictive monster. It would kill anything that came close, regardless of whether the other creature was a threat to it or not.

She let out a loud roar as she aimed her staff and released a surge of magic through it at the creature. The force of her spell threw it off the branch and sent it sailing through the air. The small body fell limply from its jaws into the soft snow on the ground beneath the tree it had been in.

The creature crashed through trees and bushes and landed with a heavy thud in a tangle of limbs but recovered quickly and stood up. Its eyes were intent on her and it began to charge, but before it could a white-haired figure leaped into its path, silver sword blurring through the air in a huge arc. The sword's sharp edge connected with the creature's neck, decapitating it cleanly in a single stroke. The head rolled off to the side and the body slumped in front of the witcher, inert and unmoving.

She watched as Geralt placidly stooped to pick up the creature's head then turned to walk towards her.

"This is done. Let's get back to bed," he said brusquely. She could smell the coppery scent of the creature's blood as it dripped from the skull he held in his fist. The way his eyes bored into hers made her think that getting back to bed might actually not be a very good idea at the moment.

"I just need a moment," she said, tearing her eyes away from his. She swiftly strode forward to where she'd seen the Leshy's victim fall from the tree.

When she found the small body, she stooped down and picked it up, gently cradling it in her arms. She could see that it was a small girl with curly black hair. There were bloody lacerations over her torso, and deep, bloody bite marks on her shoulder. The girl let out a small whimper of pain and Solona exclaimed in surprise.

"She's still alive!"

Geralt jogged over to her and threw his cloak on the ground so Solona could lay the child down on it.

"Everything's okay now, sweetie," she said, smoothing back the child's hair and struggling to hold back a sob of relief that welled up in her. She looked so much like Beth when she was younger. If only she had been there to protect her cousin. But she could save this child.

She pushed back her hood and scarf in irritation, then drew in as much magic as she could hold and began to heal the child's wounds. She was lucky she hadn't had her neck broken the way the creature had been tossing her about as it ran. After a long period of intense healing, Solona sat back with a sigh. The girl would survive.

The girl began crying in earnest and Solona swiftly wrapped her up in Geralt's cloak and stood with her cradled in her arms, shushing her and rocking her gently.

"Are you warm enough?" she asked, looking at him. She realized he'd been standing silently watching her for a good half an hour while she healed the child.

Geralt was giving her a strange look but nodded in response to their question. "I'll be fine. Let's get her back to her family."

When they reached the camp, the people seemed to have calmed down and were tending to their wounded and their dead. Three men had been killed outright as they stood watch, the creature stealthily sneaking up on them when they were unwary. It had then apparently sniffed out the sweetest meat and brazenly plunged into the tent of a family, finally managing to snatch their child after a desperate fight with her father. The mother had only received scratches and ran crying to Solona when she saw her carrying the small body back into camp.

"Oh! Oh no, my poor, sweet Elsa!" she cried as she reached out to take the whimpering child from Solona's arms. The child reached instantly for her mother who looked at Solona with a surprised and infinitely grateful expression.

"Oh sweet Melitele's grace! You saved her! You are a saint, dear lady. Who are you?" The woman looked at Solona reverently.

Solona avoided an introduction and tersely said, "Where is your husband, let me see to his injuries." The woman gestured vaguely and followed as Solona trudged to the nearly destroyed tent to find a prone figure lying sobbing incoherently and bleeding profusely from severe scratches across his chest and bites that covered most of the flesh on his arms.

"Shhh, your daughter is fine. The creature is dead," Solona said in an attempt to comfort the man. "Let me see to your wounds."

Her white locks flowed freely in the snowy breeze as she began to tend his injuries. Immediately upon seeing her face the man seemed to calm.

"Gwynrhena," he gasped as he gazed up at her in dazed reverence. Her eyes shot to his face and she cursed inwardly, pulling her hood back up to cover her hair.

"You're going to be fine," she said to him in a tense voice when she finished healing his wounds.

She turned to the child's mother who was still partially in shock, but graciously allowed her to see to her small scratches. The woman was looking at her with the same expression of adoration her husband had given her and Solona did her best to ignore it. The child was still curled in her mother's lap, wrapped in Geralt's cloak. She gazed out at Solona from beneath the heavy folds with big blue eyes, her thumb snugly ensconced between her lips.

Solona couldn't help but give her a gentle smile. "Hey, sweetheart. I need to get my friend's cloak back. Do you think you can stand up for me?" She reached for a woolen blanket she saw nearby and held it out for the little girl. The girl gazed at her uncertainly for a second, then nodded and wriggled off her mother's lap, leaving the cloak behind. Solona quickly bundled her up in the blanket and nodded at the child's mother in gratitude when she handed Geralt's cloak over. The child immediately crawled back into her mother's lap. Solona could hear the mother murmuring soft comforting words as she turned to go.

She walked across the camp searching for Geralt, who she found standing near the fire speaking with the a man she recognized as the one that had been driving the lead wagon the previous day. The man had a somewhat shocked expression on his face and nodded at what Geralt was telling him. She walked to stand next to Geralt, handing him his cloak. Both men stopped speaking to look at her.

"The girl and her father are out of danger. Are there any other injured?"

The man stared at her in awe and ducked his head.

"N-no, m'lady. Just the three poor fools the creature killed. There's nothing to do for 'em now besides pray they find peace. Many thanks for saving the child the Leshy stole." He turned to Geralt and nodded to him, "We'll be sure to camp farther from the trees from now on. Thank you, Witcher... a-are you certain we can't pay you somehow?"

Geralt shook his head. "No. We're not out for contracts. We're just travelers like you, heading south."

Solona looked for Lusa as they headed back to their own small camp. When they grew close to it, she saw their fire built up and heard Geralt's low grumble. She could also hear the definite soft lilt of lute strings and Lusa's melodic voice as he sang along with some song of Dandelion's.

"He's going to want to write a song about tonight, no doubt," Geralt said.

They reached their camp a few seconds later. Dandelion ceased his idle strumming and turned to look at them.

"Ah, our saviors," he said, his tone almost as reverent as the man Solona had healed earlier. Dandelion stood to greet them.

Geralt scowled.

"Dandelion," Solona greeted him warmly with a light kiss on the cheek and sat down beside him. "So, are you already composing the song about tonight?" she asked demurely, cutting her eyes to Geralt, who grimaced as he sat down on a fallen log across from them.

Dandelion glanced at her with his mouth parted and then looked at Geralt with a slight look of chagrin.

"Well, I'm composing a bit, if you must know... but under the circumstances I felt I should at least get your side of the story. I need to write the truth after all." His voice was just a little conspiratorial.

"You can write what you want, Dandelion. You always do," Geralt said. "But if you want to do us a favor, don't start singing it until Midsummer."

Dandelion looked crestfallen. "Midsummer? But that's an entire season lost. I need to sing it while it's still fresh in everyone's minds."

Geralt's scowl deepened. He sighed, resigned. "At least wait a week. Hopefully we'll be far enough ahead of the caravan by then and won't have to worry about the song catching up to us."

"As you wish," Dandelion said with a conciliatory nod and began strumming again.

Solona smirked as she watched Geralt's scowl turn into a grimace.

"Dandelion."

"Yes, Geralt?" the bard asked sweetly.

"Don't you have your own camp to sleep in?"

Dandelion cleared his throat. "Why, yes. Yes, I suppose I do." He gave Solona a knowing look and stood.

"Sweet dreams, my queen," he said softly and bent to kiss her on the cheek.

"Good night, Dandelion," she said and raised her eyebrow at Geralt.

After Dandelion was safely out of earshot, Solona said, "You're a bit wound up, don't you think? It's probably best if we avoid cozy dark places in close proximity to each other."

Geralt moved to sit next to her. She could feel the tension in him.

"You're right. I'm always a bit charged after a fight." He was quiet for a moment and she felt his hand cover hers briefly and squeeze.

"It's too cold out here for meditating. Join me in the tent?"

Solona was surprised. They'd never meditated together.

"Remember what I just said about cozy dark places?"

He nodded and said, "We can't meditate out here. And if we do sleep there are other factors to consider - your dreams, for instance. I think meditating for the both of us is the best option. And we have a long journey ahead of us, and no sign that it will be getting any warmer. This may be the only option open to us for a long while."

 _Until Midsummer_ , were the words she knew he wasn't speaking. She nodded and stepped into the tent. He followed behind her.

"You were different tonight," Geralt ventured as they knelt across from each other on their bedding, blankets draped over their shoulders to fend off the chill winter air.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"With the child. I've never seen you like that. Something about her affected you, Solona."

She glanced down at her hands where they rested on her leather-clad thighs, then back up to meet his gaze.

"She looked just like my cousin Beth when she was that age. She was like a sister to me."

"Beth... the girl whose fate Flemeth tortured you with that day at the elven ruins?"

Solona snorted. He was always so observant, wasn't he? Her voice was tense as she replied. "Yes, Beth... Bethany. I couldn't be there to save her and the knowledge still kills me. But I could save that little girl."

She looked into Geralt's eyes and saw that he understood that need to save what was good. He understood her need to save the world. The  _worlds_.

"Why?" she asked softly. "Why do you want to do this with me?"

She didn't elaborate, but he seemed to catch her meaning. She could tell he struggled with the answer.

"I have many reasons. If the prophecy is true, then I really have no choice... everything will end if we don't fix it."

"But, Geralt, the Grimoire only covers the details up to the ritual. After that we're on our own. Flemeth even said as much. The real fixing happens after the ritual. And it terrifies me because I don't know if that means you won't be with me afterwards. The prophecy has told us everything that happens up until that point, but nothing past it."

"We'll just have to deal with that when we get there," he said. He reached down and gripped her hands in his, twining his fingers between hers. "We need to meditate, Solona. Clear your mind as I taught you. You'll feel better in a few hours."

She clutched his hands desperately, finding comfort in the small contact. His fingers were very warm against her cold skin and he squeezed back tightly. His yellow slitted eyes met hers and a charged glance passed between them.

"Clear your mind," he said with a slightly admonishing tone. She nodded and bowed her head as though in prayer. She could feel his fingers tightly woven with hers and his kneecaps up against her own. She took several slow, deep breaths in an effort to clear her mind and could hear his own breathing deepen and slow perceptibly. Quickly her training kicked in and she felt the meditative trance overtake her and time sped by.

* * *

They reached Ban Glean the next day. The town seemed to be bustling with activity. It was one of the two major crossings of the Pontar River that separated the Northern Kingdoms from those further south. It sat at a crossroads and was relatively small, compared to other cities in the Northern Kingdoms, but boasted a large fortress at its southern edge that guarded against invasion from the south.

Today it seemed as though the fortress was on the wrong side of the village, as the south was apparently in the process of being invaded by the travelers seeking to escape the ongoing bitter winter that had already extended well into spring.

The caravan headed straight through town, many of its members drifting off into the town to gather supplies. They would meet at the camp in the evening on the southern side of the large gates of the fortress. Geralt expected they would spend one more evening camping near the caravan, but would need to pick up their pace soon if they were to keep on schedule.

"We need supplies," he said and Solona nodded back at him, her expression strained. She'd had another episode early that morning after breakfast but it had been thankfully brief.

"Will you be alright if we split up?" he asked. "We need fresh provisions, and I need to find an apothecary to restock my potion ingredients."

"I think I can manage provisions, Geralt," she said with a wan smile. "Lusa can keep an eye on me."

He nodded. His potion supplies were dwindling and the winter snow had made it difficult for him to gather the necessary herbs on their journey. Normally during this time of year fresh growth was already occurring and he would have no trouble keeping stocked. Even the monsters had been scarce due to the cold, which was somewhat of a blessing, but still meant he was woefully short on ingredients.

He walked her to the small market square where she could purchase provisions to last them for the next couple weeks, at least until they reached the next town where they could purchase supplies. He left her with Lusa and and gave her brief directions to the apothecary's shop on the southeastern side of town, telling her to meet him there when she was finished.

Roach's hooves clattered behind him as he led the horse down the cobbled path that led between the stone-walled houses of the town. The herbalist's shop was in a far corner of the town, nestled against the wall of the fortress. The familiar structure was a ramshackle stone house that had a small, well-kept fenced garden on the side where it could catch the southern sun, but the garden was cold and dead. He hoped the apothecary kept a backstock of goods that he could purchase.

He tethered his horse to the garden fence and stepped through the door. The aroma of dried herbs assaulted his nostrils and he was surprised by the little ringing bell that tinkled above his head when he opened the door. The bell hadn't been here the last time he'd visited. It had been some time since he'd been here and he realized the last time must have been before he'd lost his memory.

The interior was lit by several lanterns and a small fireplace in addition to the grey winter light that filtered through the small windows. A large, notch-eared grey cat regarded Geralt silently from where it was comfortably curled atop a scarred wooden counter a few yards inside the shop. The walls were lined with shelves that reached to the ceiling and were filled with all manner of different shaped containers labeled with white paper covered in swirly script. Too many of the containers seemed to be empty.

Geralt pushed his hood and cloak back in the comfortable heat of the shop.

"Ah, Witcher!" he heard a raspy, nasally voice call out. "It's been far too long since you've visited my humble establishment."

A hunched figure in a heavy robe shuffled through a small doorway behind the counter.

"Ziggy," Geralt said warmly. He strode over to the man and grasped his gnarled hand gently in greeting.

"You look as young and spry as ever, Geralt," the old man said, regarding Geralt intently. "But something is very different about you... I can't put my finger on it. Strange, strange. Strange things are afoot lately, my boy."

Geralt smiled. He'd known Zigmund Eggers since the old man who stood before him had been a child. He'd been just as oddly cryptic at age ten as he was now. He thought that's why he'd been drawn to him to begin with.

"Yes, there's something strange afoot. You are very astute, my friend," Geralt said.

The old man raised an eyebrow and then squinted his near-sighted eyes at Geralt, craning his neck closer to Geralt's face.

"You know much more about the situation than you're letting on, don't you, kiddo?"

Geralt had to suppress a laugh. He remembered a time when he used to call Ziggy "kiddo" in the distant past, not long after they had met. It was still entertaining to him to remember when the man finally surpassed him in physical age and had turned the tables.

"I might, but unfortunately I can't discuss it with you. What I need from you are herbs. It's been tricky replenishing my supplies in the wild since spring seems reluctant to join us this year."

The old man was instantly distracted from his question, his eyes lighting up and his face losing decades of age in his apparent enthusiasm.

"I have a special stash, just for occasions such as this, Geralt. Do you have a list of specifics or shall I just package up a bit of everything?"

Geralt was surprised for a second, then said, "A bit of everything would serve me well. Thank you, Ziggy. You never cease to amaze me."

The old man grinned at him then shuffled back through the door he'd entered from and Geralt shortly heard him mumbling to himself amidst the sounds of clinking jars and crinkling paper. Geralt couldn't help but wonder how much of what he was about to buy were materials he'd actually sold to the man over the years.

While he waited, he stood by the counter petting the grey cat who had rolled over displaying its belly to him after its master had left. He was engrossed in letting the cat lick his fingertips when he heard the door open behind him. He stiffened and began to turn around.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see a black-cloaked figure standing in the open doorway. A gust of cold wind came through the door behind the figure. He blinked repeatedly when the scent of lilac and gooseberries hit his nostrils carried by the breeze. His gut constricted as though he had been kicked. He couldn't suppress the grimace that instantly crossed his features as he turned to stare at the figure.

She threw back her hood and stood stock still after closing the door behind her. She stared at him in disbelief.

"Geralt?" she said, utter incredulity resonating in her voice.

"Yennefer," he replied breathlessly.


	28. Revelations

"Geralt? You're... alive? How are you alive?" Yennefer sputtered. Her violet eyes skittered up and down his body as though she didn't believe he was real. She took a hesitant step towards him then stopped when she seemed to register the lack of emotion on his face. Her expression turned from one of eager expectation to uncertainty.

"I believed you were dead, too, Yennefer," he said, barely able to force enough air from his lungs to articulate the words. He had a knot of conflicting emotions deep in his belly that was making him nauseous, but somehow he managed to maintain his normally aloof composure. He felt unexpectedly grateful for old habits.

"How...?" the dark-haired sorceress pleaded. Her voice broke on the small syllable she had uttered and Geralt could see his confusion mirrored in her eyes, accompanied by another emotion he was afraid to contemplate.  _Desperation. Not a healthy emotion in a sorceress as volatile as she always was._

He inwardly cursed Flemeth. He knew she'd had something to do with this. Making him believe Yennefer had been dead all along was now the worst of her insults.

"There are a lot of things you don't know, Yennefer. A lot has happened since that day; the day we died. You do remember, don't you?" His tongue felt thick as he spoke, all the moisture having evaporated from his mouth the second the door had closed behind her.

"The day Ciri sacrificed her life for us," she said, her words clipped and harsh. "I've never forgotten it. I lost everything that day, Geralt."

Geralt nodded and his brows twitched together. She'd never forgotten, but he had. He'd forgotten everything. But he'd regained all those memories since meeting Solona. He could remember once loving Yennefer so much he thought of nothing else. He would have done anything for her then. But now... now his emotions had apparently run and hid; the memory of those feelings felt like some distant, unreachable thing. He tried to grasp at them so he could find some semblance of empathy for how she must be feeling now – how  _he_  should probably be feeling now.

They stared at each other without speaking for several moments while the conflicting feelings battled it out inside him. He could see Yennefer clearly now that his feelings for her were shrouded in a fog of memory. He could see beyond all her glamours and ploys. He remembered every little manipulation she'd wrought on him in his past that he had tolerated out of what he realized now was a misguided need to please her. He remembered everything but felt completely detached from whatever emotions had been tied to those memories.

Yennefer's face drew into a tight grimace that betrayed her emotions. With far more intuition than he could fathom she said, "You forgot."

"For a time, I did forget. When I remembered, it was already too late for us. You were dead as far as I knew."  _And I loved someone else._

"But I was alive, Geralt, and I still remember. I still remember your last wish," she said softly. "As though it were yesterday."

"The wish that could never be fulfilled by any force in nature? The wish you only needed me to make so you could gain control over the genie who would grant it?"

"But it was fulfilled, and you know it. Otherwise I would have died that day. From that moment my life belonged to you. Our fates were tied together."

"Ciri freed us of the wish when she died," he said, but he knew it was a lie. He knew Ciri had brought them back to life, but believed it hadn't been Ciri who had ultimately tampered with their fates. He didn't think Yennefer needed to be aware of that detail if she wasn't already. The fact remained that they had been released from the wish. He knew he no longer had a connection, fated or otherwise, to the false beauty who stood before him.

She blanched at his statement and turned her eyes away from him, blinking rapidly. She stared out the window into the grey winter afternoon. He saw the delicate ivory flesh of her throat constrict beneath her familiar black velvet choker as she attempted to swallow her feelings. He still remembered kissing that throat, inhaling the scent of her skin. It used to drive him mad with need to think about, but now he only felt cold inside. Had their only real connection truly been the result of a wish?

The room around him abruptly felt as icy as his insides in spite of the warmth of the fire crackling nearby. He couldn't tell if he was imagining it or if she had done something to cause it. His medallion hadn't alerted him to any magic, but then he remembered having it set to detect monsters rather than magic ever since he'd begun traveling with Solona and had to endure her incessant practicing. An involuntary smile flickered across his face at the thought of her and the first "test" he'd volunteered for at her hands.

"Was that what you wanted? To be free of me?" Yennefer said. The temperature seemed to drop a few more degrees. Her eyes were on him intently again, flashing in challenge, her voice rough and quavering with emotion.

He winced at her words.

"I don't think it had anything to do with what I wanted... what either of us wanted. We never had a choice," he said.

A brief thought crossed his mind that perhaps he'd always been a slave to fate. First Yennefer, now Solona. At least with Solona he knew he had a purpose. Their connection had meaning beyond their mere feelings for each other. With Yennefer it hadn't been so straightforward. Everything about his time with her, in retrospect, seemed haphazard and disjointed. They had been two people so desperate to find something meaningful in their lives that they had perceived significance where it never really existed. The wish had only compounded their delusion.

"We belong together, Geralt," she pleaded. "We were made for each other. We were two lost souls who made each other whole. You must remember."

Her pretty heart-shaped lips almost pouted in that alluring way he remembered. He still remembered kissing them, their taste the sweetest thing to him, aside from... other parts of her. He remembered how they could rarely spend ten minutes in a room alone together before they were at each other... fighting or fucking; it never seemed to matter since the outcome was always the same. But he felt... nothing now.

The one thing he could feel was that her mood had descended into that dark place that could result in utter destruction if he wasn't careful. He may not feel anything for her now, but he still knew her very well.

He studied her for a second contemplating how much he should share with her. He needed her to understand – to accept the truth. In as gentle a tone as he could muster, he said, "That was before, Yennefer – and you have to admit our situation was never exactly idyllic. There are things I've learned recently that have changed everything. My life – my goals, are very different now than they were even a year ago. Ithlinne's prophecy..."

He was interrupted by the jingle of a bell, which startled them both. Geralt looked up and Yennefer turned to see the shop door opening. Solona's cloaked figure stepped in quickly, letting Lusa through the door before closing it tightly behind her against a howling, snowy wind. The dog immediately began growling at the figure that stood between Solona and Geralt.

"Sol," Geralt whispered, his relief at seeing her flooding through him, replacing the icy chill with warm comfort at her mere presence.

Yennefer was preoccupied with the apparent intruder. She looked down at the beast and gave Lusa a subtle sneer, then turned her sharp gaze on the dog's still hooded owner who stood before her in dark, ragged woolen traveling gear.

"Keep your beast in line, fool," Yennefer snapped. She eyed the impressive carved staff and the wicked blade that gleamed black at one end that was in clear contrast to the garb the figure wore.

Geralt and Solona both stiffened at her tone, but neither responded. Solona only made a soft shushing sound, which Lusa immediately obeyed, turning and slinking around behind Solona. He settled beside her with a watchful eye on Yennefer.

Solona said in her soft accented voice, "Am I interrupting something, Geralt?"

Yennefer's gaze shot up to Solona's shadowed face when she heard the feminine sound coming from beneath the hood, speaking so familiarly to Geralt.

Solona pushed her hood back and regarded the other woman solemnly with her narrow-pupiled golden eyes. Then both women turned their gazes on Geralt.

Geralt was still studying Solona closely, his expression concerned as he looked for any signs of mental distress. His gaze hardened again when he glanced at Yennefer who was currently staring back at him, her gradual realization becoming apparent. He cursed himself silently for neglecting to control his reaction to Solona's presence.

Solona raised an eyebrow at him when he glanced back at her.  _Well? Do I get an introduction?_

He nodded slightly.

"Solona, this is Yennefer."

Solona stood very still, studying his face intently for several seconds. Her lips parted slightly and her eyes grew wide in disbelief.

_Yennefer?_  She projected to him.  _The_ _Yennefer? She's alive?_

_Yes, her. Flemeth must have fabricated a few of my memories, too. Are you surprised?_

_No, not really. She seems upset._

_Wouldn't you be, if you'd just found out your old lover, whom you thought was dead, was actually alive?_

A subtle grimace flitted across her face. He felt a surge of emotion pass through their connection and blinked trying to clear his head. Solona's staff began to glow faintly with blue-white energy.

_Solona,_  he tried to soothe her as well as he could mentally, but could see a look of confusion in her eyes. She turned a jealous glare on the other woman. Her reaction startled him and he could see a tinge of the now familiar delirium in her eyes.

_Solona, she's a sorceress. If you can truly see her, you'll understand who and what she is. Be careful._  He hoped she'd take his meaning and really look so she could understand the level of power and deception the woman in front of them was capable of.

He saw Solona relax a bit. She seemed to study Yennefer, who was still busy studying them both and warily regarding the dog.

Solona blinked several times as she regarded the figure between them, and he could tell she struggled to suppress an expression of surprise when her eyes met his again.

Their exchange had only taken a few seconds. In that brief expanse of time Yennefer had apparently discerned their close connection and utter shock colored her features.

"You," she said simply, staring in disbelief at Solona. "You're a Witcher..."

Solona nodded slowly at her.

Yennefer turned to look back at Geralt, her eyes blazing. "Were you so desperate for a mate that you had to  _make_ one who could love you?" she challenged in a scathing tone.

He blinked, affronted by her accusation.

"Yennefer, it isn't like that." His tone was deliberately gentle, in stark contrast to the bitterness coming from the woman in front of him. Having always been intuitive to her moods, he was acutely aware of the pain she must be feeling and unsure how to mitigate it, but knew he needed to try. He knew how dangerous she could be when she lost her head.

"Things are different now – the world has changed, and not for the better. Surely you of all people should understand that. Look at the signs, they're as clear as anything. The prophecy, Yennefer. You remember, don't you? We're tied up in it, Solona and I. We have no choice."

She scoffed. "Right, and I suppose you're on a mission now to find the White Flame to obliterate this godforsaken winter? It's just bad weather, Geralt."

He blinked at her and his eyes met Solona's for the briefest moment. She had the look of a cornered animal and the thought tortured him. His eyes flicked back to Yennefer and realized she had the same expression. Hers was a bit more piqued than Solona's, but just as tinged with madness now. He knew he needed to handle this situation, and he needed to do it quickly before Solona's mental state handled it for him.

He saw Solona's staff begin to glow brighter, but Yennefer seemed oddly oblivious to the power the other woman was drawing in.

"Yennefer..." he began, a note of caution in his voice.

"Tell, me Geralt. Did you ever love me?" she spat out bitingly, interrupting him. "I believed you did. You used to look at me the way... the way you just looked at  _her_." Her voice seemed to rise in pitch as emotion constricted her throat further. "I must truly disgust you now. Now that you have your Witcher whore to play with. Your very own monster-hybrid bitch to fuck."

Geralt closed his eyes against her tirade but opened them again when she ceased speaking. His expression was fierce with growing anger.

No longer interested in being considerate of her feelings he growled through clenched teeth, "You had best get out of my sight, Yennefer. No one speaks about her that way, least of all you."

Yennefer looked as though he had just slapped her. She turned quickly, her cloak and dress billowing around her, tendrils of dark curls whipping across her face. She stepped towards the door and stopped abruptly, staring daggers at the huge black dog that stood bristling and growling at her again, blocking her path.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Way. Or so help me I'll send you to fucking hell."

Solona's staff was now crackling with energy but she blinked and stood to one side, urging Lusa back with her.

A second later, there was a violent clamor of the bell as Yennefer flung the door open, then stalked through, slamming it loudly behind her.

* * *

The icy wind hit her like a brick when she stormed out of the shop. The door slammed behind her with a satisfying thunk that knocked snow and icicles from the eaves and left the tinkle of the shop's bell echoing eerily through the air.

She couldn't breathe. She paused for a second on the steps, holding a black-gloved hand to her chest. She struggled to find air for her lungs. Her vision had gone blurry for some reason. She staggered across the cobbles of the narrow snow-covered street and leaned her hand against the wall of another building. She gritted her teeth, trying to hold in a cry of anguish that was threatening to burst forth. She gasped for breath, finally drawing an icy draft into her lungs and holding it. Tears stung her eyes.

Geralt was alive! But who was that woman?  _That Witcher?_

Her wildest dreams had come true the second she had walked into Ziggy's shop. But they had been replaced by her worst nightmare mere seconds later.

He was alive. He was  _alive._  But... oh sweet Chaos, he didn't want her and the understanding had struck her like a knife plunged into her heart. He'd looked at her with all the emotion of a perfect stranger. But he'd actually looked like he  _loved_  that... that  _monster_.

_You didn't think of him as a monster,_  a small voice in her head chided her. No, but she knew what Witchers were. And he had been  _hers_.  _Her_  monster.

She was unable to suppress a gasp of pain, her small anguished exhalation puffing out into the cold, snowy air, carrying the evidence of her weakness into the sky. She pressed her back against the side of the building, trying to catch her breath and staring at the cold sky.

"But I still love you," she whispered to no one, even though she really wanted to scream it to the heavens. "I loved you first. I was first."

She had to go. She couldn't stay here. They would come out soon and would see her. She couldn't show weakness. Not to anyone. Not even him.  _Not even him,_  who had already seen her at her weakest so many times she had believed she could always trust him to never hurt her. She had been so certain before that he belonged to her. She never expected...

_Never expected to die?_  the small voice said again.  _Never expected for the spell to be broken?_

She shook her head vigorously to dispel the thoughts. She stood up and swiped the nearly frozen tears from her eyes and took a deep breath. She could walk away in spite of the burning anguish in her chest that made her feel like her heart had turned to acid. She had to get away from him. From  _them_.

She began walking swiftly down the steeply sloped street that led to the river. The inn where she was staying was on the waterfront. It wasn't far... she believed she could make it to her room without breaking down. As she walked, the pain in her chest began to transform into a cold rage. She couldn't let this stand. He was alive, and he belonged with her.

She made it several more steps when a thought occurred to her. She stopped and blinked. A secret smile twitched at her lips as she turned around, her mood instantly improving at her idea. She took a few steps back up the narrow street, then reached her right hand out slightly towards Geralt's horse and murmured the few soft words of a spell. There was the barest flicker of light that flew from her fingertips and raced through the air, finally alighting on the horse and washing it and Geralt's belonging in a soft glow that dissipated quickly. The horse reacted mildly, twitching her mane and tail as though there were flies buzzing about, then settled down again. She repeated the gesture to the other horse.

She nodded to herself in satisfaction. That was a start. She was sure she could find a use for it later.

He was alive. She kept repeating the phrase to herself as she made her way through the snowy streets. Hope began to swell in her for the first time in years. Surely he couldn't have been with  _her_  for very long. He had said that he'd  _forgotten_  for a time. Perhaps he just needed a reminder. That... woman... was clearly some kind of sorceress. She must have him under a spell. She just needed to get him away from her long enough to prove it to him.

She needed time to think. When she reached the inn she called for a bath and swiftly ascended the staircase up to the second floor and strode to her room.

"Get out," she snapped when she entered. A young, attractive, well-dressed man seated near the fire looked up at her from a book held on one knee. He was startled by her brusque manner. She'd traveled with him from Nilfgaard because they'd fulfilled each other's mutual needs, but she found she didn't need him any longer. Her priorities had changed.

"But... what about...?" he began to speak, his dark eyes blinking in confusion and surprise.

"Out! Our arrangement is over. I have no further need of your... assistance."

"But, Yen, you said you needed..."

" _Don't ever call me that. I said, Get. Out._ "

He quickly grabbed his things and trudged out the door like some poor stray dog she had just kicked, his tail between his legs.

He'd served his purpose, but he had always been so cloyingly sweet to her that it occasionally disgusted her. He almost seemed to worship her sometimes, speaking useless endearments to her while she slept. Geralt had never been that weak. And men were easy enough to lure in if she needed assistance later, which she was sure she would. It was always easier if they were strangers to start with, for what she might need. She'd already spent far too much time with this one, letting him become attached.

When her bath arrived, she poured a small measure of her scented oils into it and then stripped. She sank into the hot water with a sigh and began formulating her plan.

* * *

Snow was beginning to fall in fat, sticky flakes when Geralt and Solona made camp that evening. They'd ridden for another few hours past the caravan and finally stopped in a secluded area near the rocky shore of a small river that fed into the much larger body of the Pontar River that snaked through the valley. The river itself was nearly iced over, but there were small patches where they could draw water. The water flowed briskly, the current constantly rattling the stones in the riverbed in a sweetly dissonant melody. There were occasional small waterfalls, and in any other season the spot they had chosen would have been ideal for a romantic picnic on a sunny afternoon, with the sun warming the expanses of large, water-worn rocks that bordered either shore of the waterway.

They hobbled the horses near the camp and Solona sent Lusa hunting, then set about clearing snow with a combination of various primal spells that left her flushing prettily. Geralt nodded with a sideways smile when she was finished.

"You're getting stronger," Geralt commented from the spot he'd found on a fallen log nearby to stay out of her way and watch her. He normally wouldn't have bothered clearing so much snow from a campsite, but he knew the process helped her, so he'd sat back and let her work.

"It's an odd feeling," she said, sitting down next to him and surveying the results of her efforts. "It's like I'm digging a well inside my mind. Each time I pull magic into me and hold it there, the well gets a little deeper and I can hold more in. It was never like this when I was first learning magic. In my world it's so much work to even access the power, and we have to be so cautious. Here, the power is just  _there_ , surrounding us all the time. I like it."

He'd heard the well analogy before from sorcerers he'd been acquainted with. He idly wondered what the resident sorcerers of Ban Ard would make of Solona if she became a student there. She was certainly adept enough to impress them even at her young age, but he understood that mages in her world began studying very young so it was no wonder how skilled she was already. It had only taken her a matter of minutes to clear the snow from their small campsite and dry the ground to prepare it for their tent.

"I never expected winter camping could be so appealing. How is it that you actually make it seem fun?"

"Anything can be fun if you have the right outlook," she said teasingly.

He raised one eyebrow skeptically at her as he stood to begin unpacking their gear and setting up the tent on the bare, dry ground she'd prepared. There was a small firepit left behind by a prior traveller and Solona began righting the stones around it and clearing it of debris.

"Okay, I'll bite. What kind of outlook would it take to make torture fun? Just for the sake of argument."

She stood up and thought for a second. "Well, that's a tricky question. I think it would depend on how futile a situation it was. Plus, how smart is the torturer? Sometimes a little pain is worth putting a moron in his place."

He grunted softly in amusement, "I take it you're speaking from experience?"

She cocked her head as she adjusted the stones around the firepit. "Yes, actually. The torture part wasn't fun. The torturer was bordering on incoherent. He was far too mentally absent to have any fun with. And believe me, I tried. But escaping was a hoot."

He paused and stared at her for a second. He'd been joking and was surprised to find that she actually did have some past experience with the subject. He wasn't sure if he was more surprised by the fact that she'd had to endure the experience or by her cavalier attitude about it. But then he remembered that she'd experienced much worse insults and began to understand.

He smiled to himself at the thought of her goading a torturer while she was on the rack. It felt a little wrong that he should feel aroused at the thought, but he didn't dwell on it.

She paused when she saw him staring at her with a slight smile on his face. He tried to suppress it.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, her mouth twitching at the corner.

He shook his head and went back to driving tent stakes. "I just had a very clear image of you verbally torturing a torturer. Somehow it doesn't surprise me in the least."

She rolled her eyes at him and shoved another stone into place around their firepit. "It wasn't exactly like that. I did  _taunt_  the man incessantly. Then he yanked out my fingernails. But he stopped when Alistair caved and told them what they thought they wanted to hear. We'd planned our answers ahead of time, and were prepared for the possibility, but he – Alistair – was in knots over it afterwards. Over me being hurt. He was always so sensitive to other people's pain... especially mine."

She seemed to grow sad as she concentrated on her task. After a moment her face lost the mournful look and she smiled and said, "But then Zev and Lusa showed up and we high-tailed it out of the prison. There were just a few casualties on the way out, but we were saved and Alistair became king that day."

Lusa chose that moment to arrive and drop a pair of dead wildfowl near the firepit. He barked and waggled his behind excitedly at the sound of his name. Her eyes lit up and she said to the dog, "Yes, you certainly saved the day that time, boy." She scratched him affectionately behind the ears. Her smile set Geralt's heart racing. The things he didn't know about her still amazed him.

She stood up and brushed her hands on her skirt, then went to hunt for firewood with her dog while he continued setting up their shelter for the evening.

When she returned she built up the fire and lit it quickly, then went to dig through her gear, looking for something.

"Geralt, I need to show you something," she said excitedly and gestured for him to follow her into the woods.

Several moments later he found himself standing on a large, flat rock behind the frozen curtain of a waterfall staring down at a dark pool of steaming water.

"We have another hour or two of daylight yet. Care for a proper bath?" she asked, grinning at him.

He realized it was a bar of her favorite soap that she held in her hand. He squatted at the edge of the pool and ran his fingers through the water. It was pleasantly hot.

"Is there a hot spring here?"

"No. Magic," she said, wiggling her fingertips so that little flames shot from their tips up into the air.

He gave her a hard look. "Don't exhaust yourself just for the sake of a bath, Solona."

She glared at him. "I'm just fine. Warming the water helped clear my head after... this morning. Besides, soaking in it will be infinitely more restorative."

His expression grew dark at the reminder. "I'm sorry you got stuck in the middle of that," he said softly, but neglected to respond to her invitation. She apparently grew impatient with his hesitance about the bath and began stripping.

"She is quite a piece of work. You said she's a sorceress, right?" she said as she unlaced her boots and pulled them off, then shimmied out of her skirt and trousers.

He nodded, but found himself distracted by the creamy skin of her bare thighs. He shook his head to refocus and met her eyes.

"She's old and powerful. And prone to fits of jealous anger. We're lucky she left without causing a scene."

Solona snorted as she unlaced the leather bodice piece of her armor and shrugged out of it.

"I'd say she did cause a scene. I was on the verge of adding to it myself.  _She's_ lucky she left when she did." She pulled her black woolen tunic off over her head and turned to step gingerly into the steaming water.

Geralt made a low sound in his throat as he watched her, his eyes tracing her graceful curves, lingering on her firm breasts, their tips sharply erect from the chilly air. She did love to test him.

"Is she older than you?" Solona asked as she settled into a smooth indentation in the rocky pool and reached for her soap and a soft cloth to begin washing. She started at her shoulders and worked her way down, slowly rubbing the soapy cloth over her skin. She seemed to pause when she reached her breasts.

He shook his head slowly and forced his eyes back up to her face, only to find her smirking at him in amusement. He scowled at her.

"You enjoy your bath, Sol. I'll see you back at camp," he said in exasperation as he stood and turned to go.

Solona's face fell. "But aren't you going to bathe, too? You are beginning to smell quite ripe, you know."

He paused and sighed deeply. "Solona, I would give  _anything_  to be able to join you, but I know if I do I won't be able to keep my hands off you. I know you feel the same way, so it baffles me why you continue to torment me the way you do."

Solona stared at him, blinking, then something seemed to dawn on her. "It's the bath isn't it... it's more difficult for you to resist. I'm sorry, Geralt. I don't know why I didn't put it together before. You always seem to have such strong self control in other situations, I didn't think it would be any different."

She was right. He had a weakness for naked, bathing beauties. Particularly  _her_. His first dream of her flickered through his mind again for the first time in months and he realized Yennefer had appeared briefly in that dream, only to be replaced moments later by Solona's ethereal figure, and he had felt inexplicably drawn to her pale beauty.

After that morning's surreal confrontation he'd been more solicitous of her than usual, but she seemed to have recovered. Now she was clearly eager to revalidate their connection. He couldn't just walk away from her, even if it was difficult for him to be near her.

He stared at the ground then turned and strode back to her. He squatted down and reached for her cloth and soap. "Here... the least I can do is wash your back for you. I'm sure I can manage that without any undue consequences."

She smiled up at him and leaned forward, giving him access.

He settled down on his knees behind her and lathered up the cloth, then set about gently scrubbing her shoulders and back.

"Geralt, you do have a choice, you know," she said softly, almost hesitantly.

He recalled what he had said to Yennefer earlier. It hadn't occurred to him then how his words might have affected Solona.

"I don't see that I have a choice, any more than you do. Unless that choice is to let the worlds die and simply spend oblivion in each other's arms. That thought does have some appeal, I admit."

She laughed, "No, sometimes that doesn't sound so bad, especially on nights like tonight. Meditating every night leaves much to be desired, in spite of its efficiency."

He scooped water up in his hands to rinse her back, sliding his hand over her smooth skin. She shivered and he noticed her hands begin to glow red beneath the water, warming it again. He took a deep breath and stood, thinking he'd regret what he was about to do but doing it anyway.

He pulled off his boots and stripped. Her head twisted around to look at him with surprise, but she seemed pleased and didn't request an explanation. She scooted forward when he gestured to her and he slipped into the water behind her. He resisted the urge to moan in ecstasy at the feel of the hot water soaking into his travel-weary flesh. It took him a moment to acclimate to the temperature. When he did, he was surprised to find the worn indentation in the rock was just the perfect size and shape for him to rest back against comfortably. It had been worn down to a smooth curve that left room for two people to recline at a slight angle against. He sank into the pool, letting the water rise up past his chest and pulled her back against him.

He handed her soap and cloth back and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her on the temple and continued their conversation.

"You and I both know that neither of us are capable of letting something like that happen, Sol. But even if the worlds weren't hanging in the balance - quite literally - I would still choose to be with you. Of course we'd have to find a way around our little predicament." He smirked as he bent his head and nuzzled at her neck.  _Hmm, don't get carried away being this close to her_ , he thought and pulled back again with a sigh.

She laughed quietly. "There are ways around it... they just aren't an option for us at the moment. Not until after..."

"I suppose not," he said mournfully. "And so we endure meditating and tortuous baths."

She laughed and began soaping up his feet, causing him to lean back and groan in pleasure.

"You're... naked..." she stated after a moment, roughly at the same time the contact of her hands on his lower legs became a bit much for him and he could no longer quash the reaction of parts that resided higher up.

"Hmm, I know. It was a tough decision, but I opted in favor of having dry breeches once we're done bathing."

"Wise choice," she said. He could hear the hint of triumph in her voice.

"Just promise me you'll behave," he said.

"Just promise me you'll  _bathe_  and we have a deal," she said with a hint of humour in her voice. She handed him the soap again.

He laughed. "Fair enough."

While he was washing, she stepped off the small ledge and plunged feet-first into the depths of the pool. He watched her disappear into the darkness and grew alarmed when she didn't reappear after a couple seconds. When she burst from the surface a moment later with a high-pitched yelp he stood up, ready to dive in and fight whatever beast might have startled her.

"What is it!"

She laughed breathlessly at his alarmed expression, "Nothing. It's just very cold down there. I don't recommend going too deep. Unless you need to cool off." She glanced meaningfully at his erection.

He scowled at her and settled down again, tossing her the soap. She'd stirred the water up enough that the cooler water from the depths of the pool was now swirling around him. It was pleasantly calming. Especially now that she was standing wet and naked right in front of him, her wet hair slicked back and water still trickling over her perky breasts. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. While his eyes were closed he felt her settle back down between his thighs. Her breathing sounded deliberately slow and even as well, as though she were making the same effort he was.

She lathered up her hair and tossed the soap back to him before plunging again into the depths to rinse.

He pulled the binding from his hair and ducked his head quickly under the water. He held his breath for several seconds, letting the water soak him thoroughly. While he was under he could feel the water grow hot again from her magic.

He flung his head back after several seconds and began scrubbing with the soap, enjoying the cool tingle of the lather as it seeped into his skin.

The oblong pool that had been carved into the rock from the waterfall was just large enough for two people to comfortably relax in it without touching, but the far end of it had no purchase and the sides descended straight down into its cold depths. Solona treaded water at the opposite edge waiting for him to finish his own ablutions.

In a breathless voice she asked, "If it turned out that it was her you were destined to fulfill the prophecy with, would you still want to be with me?"

The question startled him and he stared at her, confused. She had averted her eyes and was staring out at the snowy forest beyond their little sanctuary.

"I..." he really had no idea how he should respond to such a question. She'd never struck him as the jealous type, in spite of her reaction earlier in the day, which he'd blamed on her mental state more than anything. Her next statement abolished any concerns he had on that measure, however.

She turned to look directly at him, her golden-eyed gaze piercing his. "Because as much as I love you, Geralt, I think if I were faced with a similar dilemma, I'm not so sure I would choose you."

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

He thought she looked like she might cry at any moment and his heart ached to reach out to her. He gestured for her to come to him and was grateful that she responded, swimming the few quick strokes back to settle down between his thighs again. He wrapped his strong arms around her, holding her tightly.

"I just need you to know where my priorities lie, Geralt. I... I love you. Desperately. But I can't let it get in the way of what needs to be done."

"I wouldn't expect you to," he said, brushing his lips lightly against her ear. "Actually, I think I would prefer it if you didn't let your feelings for me get in the way. But I'm glad that's not an issue. Anyway, we're stuck together for good or ill, so you'd best lighten up about it." He pinched her playfully on her behind but she didn't seem to respond as she normally would. She only grew limp in his arms, which alarmed him more than any other response would have.

"Solona... are you alright?"

Her body grew rigid under his touch and her voice resonated with an odd timbre. " _Others will seek to separate you. You must persevere. You must put the interloper in her place."_

Her body slackened when the odd words ceased.

"Solona?"

She groaned loudly and arched her back again. " _We need you..._ " she gasped.

"Tell me what you need," he said against her ear, alarmed at her odd reaction.

" _We need... you... Wolf. Oh... Soon? Will we be free soon? We need you, Wolf. She needs you now..._ "

Solona's body began writhing in his arms, her pert breasts plunging up above the surface of the water. She gasped and spoke the words again. " _She needs you now, Wolf._ "

Surely the missive didn't mean... no, he knew better than that. He wasn't about to take unnecessary risks, but feeling her naked body writhing in his arms was driving him mad with desire. He gripped one arm across her shoulders and another around her hips trying to hold her still, which only succeeded in pulling her tighter against his erection.

He had to disregard that for now. He had no choice.

"Be still, love," he said gruffly against her ear.

She was gasping for air as though she were dying but he could feel her heat and knew it was lust she was feeling. He groaned when he understood what he needed to do to break through her haze.

He kept a tight grip on her shoulders with one arm, but with the other hand he began touching her softly. He trailed his hand up her thigh and felt her almost vibrate under his touch. When his fingertips reached her sex she cried out and he almost cried out in response when she surged back against him. He found her slick and hot and groaned against her shoulder. Unable to control himself he bit down on her shoulder as his fingertips began working deftly against her soft flesh.

After a few seconds she seemed to calm and give herself over to the pleasure of his touch. He drifted his other hand lower to grip one of her breasts and teased at the tip, causing her to moan softly. He slipped two thick fingers deep inside her. Her response burned itself into his brain.

"Oh, Geralt. I love you."

"I love you," he murmured into her ear as she writhed against his fingertips, but he knew what he was doing was working. He could feel her pleasure escalating under his touch, but kept steady, knowing instinctively that she would be more satisfied – and more lucid – if he didn't rush her.

He nestled his lips in the familiar spot behind her ear as he continued to tease his fingers along her flesh. She moaned a small objection when he ceased his previous pattern and he resumed it immediately with greater fervor.

"You like that most?" he murmured to her and enjoyed the small eruption of pleasure when he increased the particular motions she'd enjoyed with more enthusiasm.

"Yes!" she gasped. "Don't stop."

Her orgasm was violent and sudden, taking him by surprise. The water around them seemed to heat up a few degrees and her scream echoed off the rocks around them. He cried out loudly in sympathy, then grabbed her and held her close. It no longer mattered to him that his cock was engorged to the point of distraction. He just wanted to make sure she'd stepped back from the precipice she'd been perched on earlier with her strange words.

She lay gasping in his arms for several moments while he gently stroked her wet hair away from her face.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She chuckled softly. "You mean to ask 'am I sane' right? That I can't really say with all honesty lately, but at the moment I am lucid at least. Thanks to you and your magical fingers." She smiled up at him suggestively and stood up.

"You're going to hurt tomorrow..." she said, studying him with concern.

"Nothing I haven't dealt with before, at least of late," he said.

She stepped out of the water and shivered as she began dressing.

"You don't... relieve yourself?" she asked hesitantly.

He gave her a perplexed look as he followed her out and began putting on his own clothes. Was she really asking him that question? Should he even be surprised?

"I do if I feel I need to."

"And that wasn't enough for you to 'need to'?"

He shot her an irritated glance. "Actually,  _that_  was precisely the kind of situation that makes me want to throw myself in front of a  _canon_ to mitigate the frustration. Since you ask. Simply 'relieving myself' doesn't really do it justice."

She seemed shocked by his response. He felt a little smug that he'd struck her speechless for a change, which was an incongruous feeling considering he'd prefer to throw her down on the snow and have at her for the next hour or two. He watched her dress and was surprised he could resist that urge. Instead he just grumbled incoherently and pulled on his boots, then stalked back to their camp.

* * *

The images on the surface of the water flickered to darkness and the sounds of their voices faded. Yennefer sat back from the darkened basin, an expression of confusion on her face.

At first when she had begun spying on the two of them, she'd felt hurt and angry at the apparent comfort they felt in each other's company. They behaved as though they'd been together for years and could wordlessly anticipate each other's needs at any moment. She didn't think she and Geralt had ever managed to get to that point. They'd pushed each other away too frequently to really even become comfortable together.

As she continued to watch them, she noticed that they seemed to have a playful rapport with each other that reminded her of how Geralt had behaved with his brother Witchers when she'd seen them together. It made her wonder – hope, even – whether this woman was really his lover and not something else entirely.  _Just another Witcher that he happened to be traveling with?_ But as she watched more, she realized how wrong she was.

The bath had been an unexpected contrast to their other interactions. Now, as she thought back through what she had witnessed, she realized that they never touched each other, and seemed to keep a cautious distance at all times. Geralt's hesitance about the bath had been the biggest anomaly. She knew him. That wasn't the sort of invitation he would turn down without good reason, yet he had resisted.

The Witcher woman...  _Solona_... hadn't looked like she'd intentionally been taunting him. She just seemed innocently oblivious of the torture she was causing him. But not completely. It seemed like she had some idea, yet she still did it, as though she were playfully testing him. Yennefer had to admit she admired the woman's tenacity, even though she seemed very young and foolish. Yennefer secretly enjoyed watching Geralt struggle and then finally give in to the urge to join the other woman in the bath.

Once that happened his feelings became crystal clear to her. He loved that woman. She felt icy cold tendrils seep up into her belly when she saw him touch her with such tenderness and whisper words to her that made her smile. Not only did he love her, but Yennefer could read in his eyes that he wanted her desperately. Yet he never touched her unless she invited it. He continued to restrain himself for some reason and she became certain the reason must be the key to reclaiming him. She needed to find out what it was.

She was also fairly certain that he must be enthralled by this woman if he was so controlled around her. It became even clearer when he pleasured her without even attempting to seek pleasure for himself. The only incongruity was how anguished he looked in the process. If he were enthralled, she would expect him to be taking pleasure out of the act of pleasing her, but this clearly wasn't the case, particularly if their exchange after the fact were any indication. He'd stalked off looking put out about the entire ordeal, leaving his Witcher lover standing and blinking in confusion.

None of it made any sense. They behaved as lovers, except they clearly weren't fucking. She supposed she could use that small detail to her advantage.

The strangest thing was how the woman had seemed to enter a trance at one point and began spouting nonsense. She'd evoked a memory of Ciri and her strange, semi-prophetic episodes. Ciri's voice had had a similar resonance in those moments. But the words this woman said didn't sound like prophecy to her. They sounded more like premonition. It occurred to her that this woman might be a Source and she understood why Geralt might have been drawn to her. That might complicate things, but she thought she could deal with that.

She would have to find a way to separate them, if only for a short period. She hoped if she could get Geralt alone again to talk – get him away from  _her_  – she might be able to...  _do what, exactly? Enthrall him yourself? There are no djinns handy for wishes, fool._ No, but she had seen how he'd looked at her before  _she_  had walked in and interrupted. She had seen his eyes lingering at her neck, on her mouth. She knew he remembered their time together. She just need a chance to fully remind him of how much he had enjoyed those moments. Once she did, she felt certain he'd be eating out of the palm of her hand once again.


	29. Taming the Beast

Solona trudged back through the woods in the greying dusk with Lusa snuffling through the snowy underbrush nearby. Geralt was absent when she reached their small campsite, which didn't surprise her. She supposed if there was a bitter winter rainstorm he'd be standing out in it after his outburst. Or throwing himself in front of a canon.

Their situation wasn't exactly easy to deal with, but sometimes his reactions baffled her. She supposed she could understand somewhat. Wanting him had seeped into her, bone-deep, and had settled as a dull ache throughout her being. But she found that she relished the constant desire that rested like a burning ember deep inside her. It excited her that she just needed a bit of tinder to set it alight. But mostly she drew comfort from the thought that something so vital had replaced the horrific feelings of dread and fear the latent memories of her experiences at the Circle had left her with for so long. She was content with the change in spite of the occasional frustrations.

Knowing they both wanted each other with equal passion, especially knowing that there would be an end to their enforced abstinence before too long, was as much an incentive for her to complete their task as their ultimate goal was. She could manage the intermittent contact until then, but she sensed it tortured him more than it did her. It was like he was always stretched too tightly when he was around her and any little thing might do would cause him to snap when it came to his desire.

She cursed herself for pushing him earlier, but she believed he needed a bit of the same release he'd given her. She knew it wouldn't quench the need entirely, but it would help... at least it had helped her. She didn't understand why he was so resistant.

She stoked the fire and set about dressing out Lusa's kill and setting up the spit to roast the birds. When their dinner was cooking she closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the forest. After a moment she could hear from somewhere towards the west the sounds of rhythmic breathing accompanied by the high-pitched whistle of a sword cutting through air.

She followed the sounds through the trees and found him in a small clearing working methodically through familiar practiced movements. She admired his deadly grace and idly wondered how long it had taken him to attain that level of skill. She knew he did this every day without fail, either at dawn or at dusk. Occasionally she would join him but got the sense he preferred to be alone.

She noticed that he'd stripped off his outer leather shirt and vest and was wearing only his thin linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The supple leather of his trousers flexed with him as he moved, the strength of his thighs clear as though the leather were a second skin. His hair was still loose and whipped around with each of his quick turns as he swung his blade in wide arcs through the air. She watched him with frank admiration and wondered to herself why the sight of him like that was almost more arousing than seeing him stark naked had been earlier. She concluded that it must be the addition of the sword that evoked that response in her.

He paused for a moment and acknowledged her with a small nod.

She said softly, almost reverently, "You're beautiful when you're practicing."

He seemed shocked by her statement and faltered slightly. She was almost certain she'd caused him to blush, but couldn't be sure it wasn't just the flush from exercising in the cold air. She thought she saw a hint of a smile tug at his mouth.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked.

"Still cooling off," he said, giving her a brief yet meaningful glance as he took up a new stance. He inhaled deeply through his nose and blew out slowly through his mouth, the breath condensing into a visible puff of warm moisture in the cold air. He began moving again, swinging and thrusting his sword into the air with graceful, deliberate movements.

Ah, so that's what this was about. She tilted her head and smiled. "You know, there are other options."

He shook his head very slightly as he continued through his movements.

"You know I could  _make_ you let me... take care of you," she said suggestively.

"I know. And I know you won't," he replied, his expression growing serious.

He came to a halt just before her, concluding the final movement in the sequence.

He let his sword arm hang loosely at his side and gazed at her with a glint in his eye. "Alright, Solona. Since you're so insistent, allow me to propose a compromise. Duel me. If you win, I'll let you have your way with me."

This could be interesting. "What weapons?" she asked.

"Weapons I choose when we begin."

"And if you win?"

"If I win you cook dinner for the next week."

She raised her eyebrows and smiled at him in surprise. "You do realize that you're valuing food over sex, right?"

"You're a very good cook. And I need to eat more than I need to fuck... or whatever it is you were intending."

"I can't decide whether I should be insulted by that statement or not," she said indignantly.

"I just complimented your cooking."

"Yes, but..." She paused when she saw the humour dancing in his eyes. She glared at him. "I'm going to be angry if you let me win."

"You're catching on. And there's no way I'm going to let you win."

"Why do I get the feeling you're trying to teach me a lesson?"

"I am. You need to learn better self restraint."

She raised an eyebrow. "You didn't exactly practice much of it yourself when you had your hands on me a little while ago. I think you left bite marks again, you know." She pointed to the shoulder she'd felt him sink his teeth into while he'd been working his magic on her more tender flesh.

She thought she saw a flash of irritation in his eyes. "You think not? Then you really have no concept of what 'self restraint' means."

"Are you saying you  _didn't_  want to touch me?" She knew she was goading him but for some reason couldn't restrain herself. She found the realization ironic, especially because he seemed intent on teaching  _her_  self restraint when it was clear to her that his own was a mere thread that was near to snapping. She decided she would see how far he wanted to take this.

He stepped close to her, the tip of his sword cutting a line in the snow behind him. He leaned close to speak against her ear, his voice low and guttural. "I wanted that, and more, and you know it."

She felt heat settle deep in her belly and rise up her torso at his words. She could hear him inhale deeply through his nose and felt the warm current of air against her cheek when he exhaled. She was briefly hypnotized by his proximity and the musky smell of his sweat mixed with the slightly spicy smell left on him from their bath. He was so warm she could almost see the heat radiating off him in the chilly winter air. She was already in a daze when he gripped her arms gently and turned her around, then held her tight against him and continued to speak, his lips soft against her ear.

"I want all of you, Solona," his deep, rough voice tickled her ear. "And if it takes a fight to make you realize that, then so be it. We'll see who wins this one."

She almost whimpered when she felt his hands on her. She arched her back when he squeezed one breast through her soft woollen tunic and moved his hand lower. She realized with subtle panic that  _this_  was what he'd had in mind when he'd suggested a duel. This could  _not_  end well.

He continued to murmur into her ear. "I can't handle just having you piecemeal – my fingers up inside your sweet quim one moment, your hot mouth wrapped around me the next. It's like offering a starving man a single grain and expecting that to sustain him while you hold a loaf of bread just out of his reach – or in your case an entire  _banquet_. I can smell the hunger in you, too. How much more of this can you withstand before giving in? If I decided I had to have you now, would you be strong enough to stop me?"

"You wouldn't..." she gasped, even though she really wanted him to try in spite of her better judgment. But she did want to see just how far he would go with this little contest. His hands were suddenly hot on her skin beneath her tunic. His lips and tongue seared her cool skin where he kissed her neck. He gripped the flesh of her hips tightly and pulled her back against him. She could feel his erection straining at the front of his trousers and quivered at the sensation.

"Wouldn't I?" he groaned against her shoulder and she felt him grind his hips into her backside. "Are you strong enough to stop me, Solona?"

She was breathing heavily already. "You know I can."

His breath was hot against her ear. "I know, but will you? You know I'm not a threat to you."

She reached behind her and gripped him through his trousers, eliciting a loud gasp as she gave his hard length a slow stroke. In a swift motion she hooked his leg with her own and twisted around. A second later he was flat on the snowy ground and she was straddling his hips.

"There are easier ways to stop you when you're  _distracted_. Or have you forgotten?"

She grinned wickedly and leaned over to kiss him. Just as their lips made contact he flipped them, planting her solidly beneath him. She had expected it and surged up against his hips, wrapping her legs around him. She smiled inwardly at the groan of desperate need she heard from him.

"You don't play fair," he said, glaring down at her.

"This was your idea, and I should remind you that you chose the weapons. We'll see who wins." She grinned and pulled him into a deep kiss. He didn't even try to resist.

She felt the cold snow beginning to melt beneath her and seep through her clothing at the same time his hot hand found its way underneath her tunic again and gripped her breast. She gasped as he squeezed her nipple hard between his thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, shit. You're going to take this as far as you can, aren't you?" she murmured against his lips.

"Mmhmm."

He began nuzzling at her throat again as his leather-clad hips ground against hers. Was he really trying to challenge her? Trying teach her some silly lesson? Or was he just getting his rocks off? Oh hell that felt good, whatever he was doing. She realized his mouth was at her breast when the cold winter air hit her skin. She just hoped she'd know the moment she needed to make him stop and before she got carried away herself by how good his body felt pressed against her.

She heard a low rumble in his chest as he began unfastening her belt and unlacing her trousers. Oh, he was playing with fire. She tried to decide whether she should use a spell or just punch him when he crossed the line he was so perilously close to now. He had to know by now... he was intuitive. He had to have figured out she still had control, even though she was letting him have free rein over her body. Which she was thoroughly enjoying.

She felt him yank her trousers past her hips and the cold, icy snow bit into her behind. She felt his hot breath against her sex.

Oh yes.

Oh wait...

Oh no, not there... if he went there she'd lose it, she knew. She couldn't let him win.

Oh, but maybe just a little bit?

She began to groan softly in frustration at the warring impulses in her head. At least these impulses she could control. A low rumble shortly erupted from her, growing into a loud expletive.

"Fuck!" she yelled in frustration at the sky. She sat up and grabbed his head between her hands, forcing his face up to look at her. She gazed into his lust-glazed eyes and said, simply and emphatically: " _No_."

He didn't seem to comprehend what she was saying to him at first. She shook his head gently between her palms and he blinked at her. After another second his yellow slitted eyes finally lost their dazed expression and his brow furrowed. He glanced down at her exposed flesh and she couldn't help but be amused by the mournful look on his face as he sat back and covered his face with his hands.

"You win," he said in resignation.

She let out a hearty laugh as she stood and pulled up her pants and began lacing and buckling them.

In a voice rich with suppressed mirth she said, "I'm not sure if I did, honestly. You were an inch from giving me a prize and I made you stop."

"I was wrong," he said.

"Wrong about what?" she asked. She was startled when she looked at him and found him still kneeling in the snow looking at her helplessly.

"Wrong about your self restraint... You're... You... I wouldn't have stopped until it was too late." He sighed and shook his head.

"You have to tame the beast, Geralt. Whatever it is for you. I tamed mine, thanks to you, so now I can control it when it rears its ugly head... even bring it out to play sometimes. I don't get the sense you've managed to tame your own. You let it out and it wants to devour anything in its path. It doesn't matter how tight a hold you think you have on it – it isn't about control. It's about understanding and acceptance."

"My  _beast_?" he asked incredulously and she laughed when he glanced for the briefest second at the bulge still obvious at the front of his trousers. He chuckled softly and shook his head, then looked up at her. He eyed her up and down and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm pretty sure it's only  _you_  it wants to devour."

She smirked at him then turned to leave. "You think about it once the blood returns to your brain. I'm going to go make sure Lusa isn't burning our supper. Oh, and if you'd  _really_ wanted to win, you would have stuck to swords."

"I didn't let you win," he called after her.

"If you say so," she called back with a shake of her head as she walked away. She could hear him grumble under his breath  _"but I didn't."_

He stalked back into camp several moments later looking irritable. He grabbed his whetstone and settled on a saddle blanket against a fallen log near the fire and began sharpening his swords. If she didn't know better she'd be convinced he was sulking.

When the food was ready she wordlessly handed him his portion. His mood seemed to lift somewhat as he ate. When he was finished sucking the last of the roasted meat off the bones he gave her a wry look and said, "Better than sex."

"You must have amnesia again," she said with a mocking smile.

"Selective amnesia. If I tried to remember sex with you I'd drag you into that tent and never leave. We'd be lucky if the world ended before we starved to death. Needless to say, we don't have time for that – we need to be in Vengerberg in two weeks' time if we're going to keep on schedule."

He paused and gave her a steady look for a moment before saying, "You'd better get on with it while my senses are dulled from your cooking."

"Get on with what?"

"You won, remember?" He still seemed put out by the idea that he'd been beaten at his own game.

She gave him a smug look and crossed her arms. "Oh, right. I did, didn't I? But only because you chose the wrong  _weapon_. I'm still not convinced you didn't do that on purpose. Maybe subconsciously you really wanted to lose."

"Maybe so," he said. "But the fact remains, you won. Don't tell me you're reneging on the bet."

She stood and sauntered over to him where he sat, the orange glow of their campfire reflected in his dark pupils. She stepped across his legs and stood over him with one foot planted on either side of his thighs.

Looking down at him with a smile, she said, "I wouldn't dream of it."

She knelt down, resting her backside on the tops of his thighs. Their eyes met and she gave him a serious look. "I'll give you one chance to back out."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he echoed, his eyes flashing with desire as he slid his hands up her thighs. She grabbed them tightly in her own and gave him an admonishing look.

"These go behind you. And they stay there."

"What, now?" he asked, blinking at her in confusion.

"Find a spot for them on the tree. I can't let you distract me while I work."

He looked at her with wry amusement. She folded her arms across her chest and stared at him, one eyebrow cocked as though she were waiting for an unruly child to behave.

He shrugged and stretched his arms out, gripping two broken branches on either side of him that jutted out from the bark of the fallen tree he was resting against.

He looked at her expectantly and she thought she could detect a hint of apprehension in his eyes. Her expression softened and she reached a hand up to caress the side of his jaw, her fingertips rasping against his rough stubble.

"It's not going to hurt," she said softly. "Close your eyes." He obeyed and she noted that he swallowed hard when he did it.

She sat looking at him for a second, noting the creases of worry in the center of his forehead and the almost grim set to his mouth. He didn't smile nearly enough, she thought, and had an urge to to kiss away those lines. She drifted her hand up his cheek and slid her fingertips in a soft caress across his forehead, then leaned in and rested her lips gently against his warm skin for a second. When she drew back the lines disappeared and his brow relaxed, as did the lines around his mouth. She smiled to herself and kissed him again between his eyebrows..

In a low voice he asked, "Were you serious when you said I was beautiful?"

His question startled her. She reached a hand up and traced the scar that extended over his left eye, then leaned in and kissed his cheek at the very end of it.

"Yes. No more talking."

His mouth opened as if he were about to say something else, but she silenced him with her lips. Instead of speaking he only moaned softly as she darted her tongue out to taste him. He always tasted of herbs, even if he hadn't recently swallowed any potions. She'd grown used to it during their trip north, but since they'd been compelled to keep their distance she sometimes forgot how much she liked it. She hummed softly in pleasure and deepened the kiss, raising both hands up to rest on either side of his jaw.

She felt him shift his position, his hips flexing between them, and remembered that she had a task to perform. Without breaking from the kiss she slid both hands down his chest, enjoying the feel of his hard, lean muscles through the thin, loose fabric of his shirt. She felt his stomach tighten beneath her touch and he moaned against her lips when her hands reached the waist of his trousers.

"This might feel strange," she said, pulling back from the kiss. "Just bear with me."

He opened his eyes, giving her a wary look until she released his erection from the confines of his leather pants. The cold air hit his much warmer flesh causing him to inhale sharply.

"That doesn't feel strange. That just feels fucking cold," he said, gasping for breath.

She laughed. "That's not what I was referring to. This is."

She gripped his thick shaft with one hand that was glowing white with energy. He let out another sharp gasp and arched his back. She pulled back in alarm.

"Too much?" she asked.

"Fuck no. Do that again," he said when he'd relaxed.

Magic crackled along her fingertips as she reached for him again.

"Wait... " he said. She paused and looked at him, her eyebrows raised. "What are you about to do to me? It won't have any lasting effects, will it?"

She smiled. "Nothing physical."

"You've done this before?"

"Yes."

He nodded at her and she slipped her hand back down, embracing his hot, hard flesh. She slid her other hand lower, gently cupping him between his thighs, white tendrils of energy jumping out from her fingertips.

She began stroking him slowly and watched as his eyelids fluttered and his breathing quickened.

She realized as she watched him that she didn't think she'd ever really looked at him when he was overwhelmed by lust and passion. His face was transformed into something otherworldly and beautiful – even more so than what she'd seen when she watched him exercising earlier. She recalled his bloodline and understood that might have something to do with what she was witnessing now, but she found a new understanding of how this man could be so alluring to other women.

"You're glowing, Geralt," she said softly.

"You're electrocuting my balls," he said gruffly. "But it feels damned incredible."

She rolled her eyes, realizing there was no use talking to him now. She altered her spell and he relaxed under the soothing green glow of her hands. She continued caressing him as before and he tilted his head back, letting out a low, guttural groan.

"Too much?" she asked again.

He tilted his head back up to look at her with glazed eyes. He shook his head, then closed his eyes in pleasure. "No... that's perfect... it's like... relief, almost."

"Fuck, I want to touch you, Sol," he said and her heart thudded in her chest at the raw need she heard in his voice.

"Not allowed. But if it will help, look at me," she said.

He opened his eyes and met hers.

"Let me inside for a second – really inside," she said.

He nodded.

She held his gaze as she continued to stroke him with magically charged fingertips. She sensed his mental barrier fall. When it did, she sent a series of images into his mind of their first night together; of all their soft caresses and the wild abandon with which they'd made love.

He gasped and closed his eyes. She could see his hands clench tightly on the makeshift handles of the fallen tree.

His voice sounded distant, detached. "You were so soft. I can almost feel you now. Every smooth, wet inch of your skin after I carried you out of that bath. I couldn't get enough of you. I couldn't stop burying myself inside you. How could any woman feel as good to me as you felt? Oh hell, that feels amazing." He opened his eyes again and stared at her.

She'd switched her spell again so that gentle electrical pulses sparked between her fingertips and his skin. This time she avoided making direct contact with him, instead holding her fingertips just close enough for the spell itself to reach him. She felt him tense beneath her and increased the power of the spell. He groaned in response.

She watched in triumphant fascination as his thick length throbbed before her eyes and wept a small measure of evidence of his ecstasy. The small droplet stayed poised at his tip, glistening in the firelight. She slid her index finger up his length and caught the droplet. She had it almost to her lips when she caught his eyes burning into her. She paused and hesitated.

"Do it," he whispered. "I want to see you taste me."

She blinked and smiled demurely. Instead of tasting her fingertip, she slicked the moisture slowly over her lips, then leaned in and kissed him again. He opened up to her eagerly and their tongues slid together, the salty taste of his arousal mingling with the sweeter flavor of his mouth. Oh, how she missed this. But she reluctantly pulled back again, knowing she needed to avoid testing her own limits if at all possible.

"Sol," he groaned desperately when their lips parted.

"I can do more than taste you," she said as she scooted down his legs. She shifted to kneel between his knees, then lowered her head and captured him in her mouth.

She heard the sound of wood splintering and glanced up to see his outstretched hands clinging by the fingernails to the bark of the fallen tree. His previous handholds lay on the ground, crushed to kindling. His head was thrown back and he was breathing heavily. There was a sheen of sweat over the exposed skin of his chest that showed through the unlaced neck of his shirt. She knew it wasn't the heat of their campfire that was causing it and hummed softly in amusement around his flesh.

She continued her delicate magical ministrations on his nether regions while she slowly worked him with her mouth. He was wound so tight it was only a matter of moments before she had him bellowing into the sky as his hard flesh pulsed with his release. She swallowed deeply and kept going, increasing her tempo slightly as she increased the flow of magic through her fingers into his sex.

"Solona," he groaned in between heavy breaths. "Oh, fuck."

He arched his back and his hips involuntarily thrust towards her. She was unrelenting, bringing him to orgasm again and again with deft use of her mouth and tongue and the alternating charge of spells against his flesh. She didn't stop.

He let out an odd, throaty growl and she glanced up at him, pulling back from her task briefly. She kept her lips wrapped delicately around his thick tip and continued sucking gently and swirling her tongue around the velvety skin. His cheeks were flushed and he panted through parted lips. He was staring at her intently, the look in his eyes something she didn't recognize, but she thought was equal parts amazement and gratitude. She descended on him again and he sighed deeply in pleasure, arching his hips up to meet her once more.

Solona had lost count of the number of times she'd brought him to his peak when she felt him shift and his hands gripped her shoulders, urging her to sit up.

"I'm spent," he said, smiling at her sheepishly.

She grinned and said, "I wasn't sure if that was even possible. I guess now we know how to tame your beast."

He shook his head as he fastened up his pants. "Oh, I doubt it's tamed... just exhausted. That was..." He shook his head again and shrugged, unable to find the words.

"Better than my cooking?" she asked teasingly.

He reached to her and pulled her onto his lap. Holding her close, he whispered in her ear, "Solona, there's only one thing I've tasted that would overshadow the experience, and  _that_  particular treat is off-limits."

She gasped when she felt his hand press against her sex through her trousers.

"Geralt..." she began to object but the slight pressure he was exerting between her thighs was making it hard to think.

"You have an iron will," he whispered in her ear as his hand deftly unlaced the front of her trousers and slid inside. "The entire time you were busy with me, I could tell how much you wanted more. The smell of your need was almost as arousing as what you were doing to me with your tongue."

She moaned when she felt his fingertips slide between the folds of her sex and slip inside her. His thumb found her swollen bud and applied the merest pressure, then began working her in slow circles while he thrust his fingers into her.

Her eyelids fluttered closed and she sighed in pleasure. She felt his mouth cover hers, his kiss hot and urgent. She clutched tightly to him, her head spinning from the ecstasy his expert fingers inflicted on her. The intensity increased until she was unable to contain herself. She inadvertently bit down on his lip and tasted blood before she pulled back. She cried out as her hips writhed against his hand and her muscles spasmed around his fingers. He nuzzled at her neck until the spasms dwindled. When he pulled his hand away she sighed, then rested her head against his shoulder.

He looked at her with a smug smile that would have made her laugh if she'd had more energy. Instead she only let out a soft chuckle. He stood with her in his arms and carried her to their tent, stooping down to set her on her bedroll inside. He quickly banked the fire and retrieved his sword before crawling in with her. He lay down beside her and covered them both with their blankets, pulling her close against him.

"Sleep tonight?" she asked softly in the darkness.

"Mmhmm," he murmured against the back of her neck.

"Bad idea," she said softly just before drifting off in the comfort of his arms.

* * *

_She felt cold._

_She hurt._

_She couldn't move._

_She opened her eyes but saw only distorted shadows cast by dim, cold light flickering around her._

_Muffled v_ _oices whispered from just beyond the gloom, reaching her ears from all directions. The whispers slithered around her and choked out what little illumination remained until there was nothing but suffocating darkness._

_Inside her mind she heard him calling her name, his voice worried, desperate._

_She closed her eyes and tried to reach for him, but her mind was in a fog, unable to focus. Images flickered between past and present. She couldn't find him amidst the confusion._

" _Geralt," she choked out his name and it became a soft, helpless sob, almost a whimper._

" _Solona," his voice was commanding now, almost in her ears more than her mind. Had he finally found her?_

* * *

"Solona," he said again, shaking her more firmly than before. "Wake up."

He'd awoken from a terrifying dream of his own to her harsh sobs as she cried in her sleep. She choked out another pitiful sob that made his heart ache. He wondered if she was somehow dreaming the same dream he'd just escaped from. He hadn't seen her in his dream, however, and that's what had terrified him the most.

"Geralt?" She turned and reached for him. He pulled her close and held her tightly in his arms.

"Shhh," he whispered into her ear. He felt tears begin to sting his eyes as he stroked her back through her tunic.

He was still overwhelmed by the feeling of desperation from his own dream. He'd been standing alone in a barren, snow-covered field. She was just  _gone_  and he had no way to find her. The world had grown dark and desolate and then began to crumble beneath his feet, consumed by chaos. It was his fault. He had lost her. They had failed.

"Shhh," he whispered again. "You're safe."

He felt her hot tears soaking through his shirt and hoped he wasn't lying.


	30. Badger Hate

_Two weeks later. 10 weeks until Midsummer. Outside Vengerberg, the capital city of Aedirn._

* * *

Icy winds battered them relentlessly. Snowy gusts obscured their vision. There was no shelter between where they were, trudging sluggishly down the snowy road, and the city that still lay many hours away.

Geralt glanced back to Solona's horse. She was still astride, but hunched over and shivering.

It was near sunset, though tough to tell from the lack of light. There was still grey light filtering through the blizzard, but visibility was nearly nonexistent. They could still see each other, at least.

Lusa whined. The horses whinnied and snorted in distress. He knew they couldn't make it through another night if they could even find a suitable camp. They needed to keep moving. But Solona needed to rest. He'd heard her weakly casting her spells to try to maintain her mental focus, but she'd fallen silent for some time and he knew she'd run out of energy and probably drifted off. She was exhausting herself daily just to keep sane and he admitted to himself that he worried meditation wasn't enough to restore her energy each night. Once they reached Vengerberg at least they could take a couple days to truly rest before continuing their journey.

Lusa barked and Geralt turned his hooded head around sharply to see Solona beginning to slide limply out of her saddle. He dismounted quickly and was beside her horse in time to catch her and cradle her in his arms.

"Sol," he said, loudly enough to be heard over the wind as he shook her gently. She made no response.

He cursed softly. She was completely unconscious. Her frosted eyelids fluttered as she whispered unintelligible words. Her cheeks were flushed brightly and her warm breath gusted out in little steamy puffs. He carried her to Roach and set her in the saddle then trudged back through the driving snow to secure her horse by a lead to his own. She sat slumped over the saddle horn, unmoving. He held her steady while he mounted behind her and held her close, wrapping his cloak around them both.

She was so warm the snow seemed to melt the second it landed on her cloak. He almost moaned at the contact when he wrapped his arms around her to grab the reins again. Intense heat radiated out of her and he could feel it even through all the layers of the heavy garb she wore as well as through his own. He recalled the dreams they'd shared and her recounting of the sweltering visions she'd had of her homeworld. He guessed that she must be having a similar vision now.

During one of her recent trance-like episodes she had murmured strange words about the balance shifting. She rambled on for so long that he began to think he should start taking notes. He assumed she was speaking prophecy, with her words about the three worlds perishing in fire and ice. He knew it for certain when the words became Elder Speech, which he knew she didn't speak, and could barely read. She had looked straight at him, her eyes slightly unfocused. Her words had chilled him and his already cold and tasteless breakfast had felt like clay on his tongue. _"In the dragon's plight, the wolf's despair, the flame will dwindle and die. The blood and fire of the dragon and wolf must prevail to lead us to light again."_

He shook off the memory and peered into the dwindling light, ensuring they were still headed down the road to Vengerberg. Dragons and wolves, he thought, wondering what kind of strange-looking offspring the two creatures might produce.

"Whatever it is, it's bound to be prettier than a true witcher babe, to hear Vesemir tell it," he muttered.

Roach snorted. He urged her forward again. The mare grunted obstinately.

"Get moving, dummy, we don't have time to waste," he said.

Roach snorted again and began trudging forward slowly. Solona's head lolled against his shoulder in rhythm with Roach's gait.

"No need to be overly enthusiastic. It's not like we're about to freeze to death," he said and kicked her again, wishing he had spurs for occasions like this.

He heard a few odd noises behind him and turned back in time to see Ghost and Lusa both nipping at Roach's hindquarters and she finally lurched into a brisk trot.

"Trust me," he said. "It'll be better if we keep moving."

He finally succeeded in urging her into a canter and maintained the pace for the next couple hours, only pausing to let her rest for brief moments.

As they made their way through the darkening storm he pondered further what witcher babies might really be like if they were allowed to exist. Little toothy things with fur? Or more like slimy drowners? He didn't think human babies were particularly attractive – little monsters themselves, by all accounts, and some of the children he'd met confirmed the assessment – how much worse could a witcher baby really be? Surely they'd eat and shit no more than the normal kind. And surely any baby Solona made would be beautiful no matter what. No thanks to him, of course. But according to the prophecy, they didn't need to worry about that.

He knew the ritual would ensure whatever child they produced would be born perfect. A small god, even. That thought troubled him. How do you properly raise a god child? Are they like normal children? Not that he had any experience with normal children anyway. But he knew his world depended on this theoretical child, so he had no choice but to do whatever he could to make sure it turned out right. He just wished the grimoire had given some clue about what to expect... afterwards. The only helpful details he had regarding the ritual dealt with how to properly service Solona, which he didn't think he'd have any trouble getting right. But there were no details about what to do afterwards.

He tried not to think about what would happen to her during the ritual. He knew she would be changed in the process. His arms gripped her slight form a little tighter when he thought about it. She was willingly sacrificing herself to save them. She would survive, but what would she be at the end? He felt his heart thud in his chest when he recalled the naked, nubile redhead from the dream-vision he'd seen weeks earlier. He wondered what it would have been like to know her then, before all these things had changed her. What would she have been like if the world – worlds – hadn't demanded this sacrifice of her?

He never would have known her if that were the case. He felt a little sick at feeling validated by her misfortune. Or was it fate...

_"I'm your destiny, Geralt"_. Her words still resonated in his mind. He realized she was even more a slave to fate than he was. She'd experienced only a fraction of years compared to him, yet had embraced her own fate fearlessly, and was seeing it through with bitter determination.

He'd had so many years of freedom compared to her, in spite of all the horrors he'd had to endure during his long life. He knew he had decades worth of pleasant memories, if you strung them all together. His time as a youth after he'd finished his witcher trials. Winters spent at Kaer Morhen when he was younger. Some of the time he'd spent with Yennefer. His time training Ciri. How much had she had? By her accounts she'd been an exile most of her life, became a prisoner when she was barely an adult, and shortly after that her own fate had commandeered her life for good.

And it had brought her to him. He rejected the idea that it was misfortune that had brought them together. Fate was much easier to stomach than luck, good or bad. He'd suspected there was something larger at work in his own life for years, ever since he'd supposedly risen from the dead. And even before that, if he was honest with himself. Her presence proved it. She'd given him purpose for the first time in his life. Something beyond simply being a killer.

Her temperature dropped and he felt her begin shivering violently in his arms. He knew her vision must have shifted to one of the icy ones now. He held her more tightly and urged his horse onward.

He was barely aware of the hour now and had no way to tell without the light of the sun or the stars to tell him one way or the other. All he could do was keep urging Roach forward and hope the other animals were keeping up.

While they trudged on, there was nothing to do but think.

His mind drifted back to the night they'd camped outside Ban Glean. It had been memorable, to say the least, but the single thing that stood out to him was when she had told him he was beautiful. No one had ever told him that before. He'd never even pondered the possibility of his own  _beauty_. Women were odd creatures and seemed to be attracted to the ugliest things, after all. He had just considered himself lucky that whatever they saw in him was to their liking. He was fairly certain it wasn't comeliness that had prompted their favors. When he'd been a young witcher he thought it might be his unique appearance more than anything pleasing they found in his features. Then later after he'd received a few scars he thought it might be the scars themselves that attracted them. Eventually he'd just come to the conclusion that the very idea of bedding a witcher was what appealed to them. Maybe they thought it was good luck. And they knew witchers were infertile – or so he'd believed all his life until recently – which really just made him a worry-free fuck. That excuse ultimately made more sense than any other explanation and he realized he had a new appreciation for that particular dilemma that he'd never had before.

They reached the gates of Vengerberg as darkness was finally turning into the grey light of dawn. The blizzard's unrelenting haze had subsided and they had a clear view of the gates several yards before they reached them.

"Hoy! Gatekeepers!" Geralt yelled. He knew it was dawn and they had no reason to deny him entry.

He could hear the guards rousing in the tower and indulged himself for a moment as he waited, nuzzling Solona's hair and inhaling her scent. "We'll be inside soon," he whispered to her. She made no response.

A moment later a gruff voice called back, "Who goes there!"

"Just travelers seeking entrance to the city," Geralt answered from beneath his shadowed hood. Irritation began to itch at him at being interrogated.

"There've been reports of raiders near the city. Have you seen any?"

"Can't say that I have. I highly doubt anyone would be crazy enough to stay out in this shit."

"Yet here you are... out in this shit."

"I had an emergency. Needed to get to the city quickly. Are you going to let us in or not?"

"Oh, an emergency. What's your emergency?"

"My... wife is ill. She needs shelter and rest, and a healer or sorcerer if one is in residence. That's all."

There was quiet from the guard tower for a moment and he grumbled. He knew they had no real reason to detain him or even turn him away. Vengerberg was a big city with an attentive church for the homeless and ample city guard for the odd rabble that might make it through the gates during the day.

Thankfully the large iron gates of the city creaked open and he entered without further useless interrogation.

He steered Roach down the dark, narrow alleys until he reached a small inn he remembered from when he'd lived here with Yennefer.

_Yennefer_. He still cringed at the recollection of their confrontation in Ban Glean. Why had she been there of all places? He still couldn't help but wonder at the odd coincidence. He wished he'd been more... something. Comforting? He had no idea what he could have done to make things easier on her, but he was sure there must have been something. He wished Triss were easier to contact so he could ask her advice. If he'd had time he'd write her a letter... but he didn't have time, and Yennefer was the only sorceress he knew in this city who had a telecommunicator mirror. She might be back here already, but he didn't think he could face her now after their disastrous reunion.

His mind dwelled on the confrontation.  _Fucking prophecies_ , he cursed to himself. He had hoped Yennefer, of all people, would have understood the prophecy. She'd heard it often enough from Ciri. She'd even made half joking comments about how Geralt was probably the subject of bits of it. He doubted she really knew how true her comments were at the time. He certainly hadn't guessed. The only person he knew who had embraced the prophecy was delirious before him on his horse. And she wasn't even from his world. Well, there was her... and his mother, whose significance he still wasn't prepared to contemplate.

He found the inn and stabled the horses, giving the stablehands a far greater gratuity than he normally would just to get them to carry their things inside since he was occupied carrying Solona.

Dawn was a bad time to try to get a room. They were stuck with the smallest, most remote room that wasn't actually the attic or cellar. He was pleased with the location, since it was tucked away in a remote corner of the sprawling inn, but the accommodations left a lot to be desired. He couldn't quite stand upright in the room due to the eaves that loomed over the bed. He almost wondered if the attic room wouldn't have been roomier than this one, which was little more than an oddly shaped closet with a tiny window. It didn't even have a fireplace.

When he entered the room, he laid Solona down on the bed and removed her cloak, then covered her up with a blanket. He eyed the sloped ceiling and decided to pull the heavy bed closer to the center of the room, to preserve his own head if for no other reason.

He stood looking down at Solona debating whether he should find a spot on the floor instead. While he looked at her, he noticed Lusa curling himself in an exhausted heap near the door, immediately going sleep. He realized there wasn't much floor for him to claim for himself.

"Fuck it," he said and scooted her over, then climbed into the too-small bed beside her, pulled the blankets over them, and wrapped his arms around her before settling down to sleep.

* * *

The sounds of the late afternoon activities in the tavern below roused him much later. She was still sleeping soundly beside him and hadn't stirred. He clung to her briefly, enjoying the warmth of her body against his, a sharp contrast to the colder air in the room around them.

He lay still and listened to the sounds of her breathing. His hold on her tightened when he remembered the dream he'd just had. Another dream of intense heat and dark, evil creatures climbing out of ominous chasms. The dreams had been frequent in the last couple weeks. He understood that she was dreaming of her homeworld still, and the threats that lingered there that she'd taken it upon herself to vanquish by any means necessary. She'd come to him for help, all those months ago. Her arrival had surprised him even more than Ciri's had when he'd found himself her unwitting guardian.

This woman was his fate as much as Ciri was. She'd arrived unannounced and changed everything. By the time he'd realized it he couldn't have refused her if he'd wanted to.

He chuckled softly at the idea. How in the world do you plan for fate? Not that he'd really planned for anything in his life. You plan spring crops, you plan fall harvests, you plan to survive the winter. As witchers, you plan to keep your swords sharp and your reflexes sharper so you can survive the next fight. You don't plan for fate. It just sneaks up on you. And then what do you do? He knew there was no fighting this. He'd been rushing down a river his entire life and now he found himself on the verge of diving head-first over a waterfall. He knew there was no escaping it, even if he'd wanted to. All he could do was hold his breath and close his eyes and hope he survived the plummet over the edge.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. He should get up. Go get them some supper at least. But he couldn't drag himself away from her.

There was a sharp knocking at the door. A muffled, high-pitched woman's voice called out, "Witcher! Are you there, Witcher?"

He thought about ignoring it, but there was something desperate in the woman's tone. He rolled onto his back with one arm over his eyes and lay on the bed for several seconds longer as the knocking continued.

He cursed and stood up. He flung the door open. The petite young woman on the other side cringed at the hostility she was presented with.

"What."

The woman staggered back. She stammered a half-coherent apology before regaining her composure. She was a pretty girl. Very young by his estimation. Also very scared, but brave enough to approach him. He gave her points for that and relaxed a tiny bit.

"M-master witcher," she gasped out. "W-we... i-its a monster... i-in our cellar."

She took a deep breath and he noticed a wide-eyed young boy clinging to her skirts and gazing up at him in horror.

_Shit, now I'm reduced to frightening children._

He let out a long sigh and made a concerted effort to change his demeanor.

"Calm down and tell me what happened," he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone.

It seemed to work somewhat. The young woman approached him hesitantly and made a stuttering explanation of her ordeal.

"Th-there's a m-monster in my cellar, sir. It's k-killed my cat and is eating all our winter stores. We'll s-starve if it keeps on. W-will you help us? Please?"

"What kind of monster? How big is it? Did it eat your cat whole or just fight it until it died?"

She blinked at him in confusion, then answered hesitantly, "I-I don't know, sir. It's bigger than the cat... was... and it has glowy eyes and pointy teeth."

"Does it walk on two legs or four? Or does it have tentacles? Fur?"

She looked confused, but answered slowly anyway. "F-four legs and fur... I-I think, but I didn't get a good look at it. It made horrible, awful noises. I was too scared to go see."

It was probably just a wild animal, he concluded. There were very few monsters with fur. But even so, it could be something that could legitimately cause this woman harm. If so...

He gazed at her intently, then glanced down at the wide-eyed face peeking out from behind her skirts. Big blue eyes blinked and a small thumb made its way into the child's mouth.

_Shit._

He nodded and sighed. "Meet me downstairs in ten minutes."

Her face relaxed with obvious relief and she nodded back, then ushered her small charge along down the darkened hallway to the stairs.

He turned back to Solona who was still deeply asleep. He couldn't leave her alone. He looked at Lusa. Was the dog enough? Definitely not.

He donned his heavy vest and strapped his swords on, then his cloak. He stepped out the door and closed it.

The tavern on the first floor was bustling and it took him several minutes to attract the attention of the innkeeper and express his needs. A moment later he was back in their room explaining to a young kitchen scullion to keep watch over Solona while she slept. Her eyes grew wide when she saw Solona's sleeping form.

"It's Gwynrhena in the flesh!" she gasped.

Geralt cringed realizing that she still resembled the posters very closely, particularly since he hadn't taken the time to strip her armor.

"Yes," he said, deciding to take advantage of it for a change. "And you need to watch over her while I'm away. If she wakes up, make sure she gets whatever she needs."

The girl nodded emphatically. Then she spied the dog and her eyes grew wide and fearful. Lusa wagged his butt at her and rolled onto his back, showing her his belly. She seemed to relax and laughed nervously.

"I'll pay you when I return if you've done a good job," Geralt said.

"Oh, yes sir. It will be my pleasure to watch over her, to be sure."

He nodded at her and stepped out the door, hoping the "monster" problem would be quick and easy to deal with.

* * *

Dusk was settling over the city when he stepped out of the inn behind the young woman. The snow was only coming down in sporadic flurries now so they could easily see where they were going. The young woman's house was across town and took some time to reach. When she let him into her small dwelling, he could hear the sounds of some creature beneath them. At least she hadn't been lying. She and the child huddled together on a chair near the kitchen stove as he flipped open the trapdoor to their cellar.

He paused for a moment, gazing into the blackness beneath him. He pulled a small vial containing a potion from his vest which he swallowed quickly, stowing the empty back where it had come from. He felt the familiar shift in his eyesight that allowed him to see more easily in dark places and then swiftly descended through opening into the darkness beyond.

He drew his silver sword and looked around.

He was in a wide open space with shelves along all the walls and crates and odds and ends littering the spaces in between. There was very little open floor, but he could hear the creature's snuffling nearby. He silently stalked in the direction of the sounds, stepping quietly over crates and boxes as he moved.

He saw small claws reach up to a low shelf of potted goods. He watched silently as the claws pulled a ceramic jar down and pried the lid off, then began lapping up the contents.

When he saw the creature's face and the black and white stripes on it he began laughing to himself. It was a common beast. A badger no less. Burrowed in from the outside somehow. Probably starving and looking for food. Now it was ransacking some poor woman's root cellar just to survive.

He sheathed his sword and stepped forward quickly, attempting to grab the creature by its scruff. It shied away and scurried behind a pile of crates.

"Fuck," Geralt said. "Come back here, you little shit."

He crouched down, stalking it to its hiding place. His enhanced vision gave him a bright view of its beady eyes staring back at him defiantly from the corner it had backed into. He looked up and around seeing its exits and plotting which way it could possibly escape to if he couldn't catch it.

He stood up and walked away for a second, hoping to give it a false sense of security that would encourage it to come out of its corner. He slowly and quietly looped around to the back of its hiding place, stepping over crates and around shelves.

He could see its tail sticking out beneath a fallen stack of crates. He stalked forward quietly. If he could just get to it without it noticing...

He lunged and gripped coarse fur, but it slipped out of his grip.

"Shit!" he yelled in frustration.

He saw its grey furry figure scurry into another corner behind another pile of crates. He wouldn't be able to get behind that one.

His nose pricked up. It liked fruit. He walked back to the spot where he'd first seen the creature and found the upended jar it had been eating from. Potted fruit.

Geralt picked up the remains of the jar and carried it to the other end of the cellar. He set it down in the shadows near where he was certain the creature was hiding. He dumped a bit of it out on the dirt floor and set the container down, then backed off and waited quietly.

He heard it snuffling and grunting softly and within moments a shiny black nose emerged from the shadows, seeking out the sweet aroma of the potted fruit he'd spilled. The second the creature began lapping up the fruit, Geralt swooped down in a blur and grabbed it by its scruff in one large gloved hand.

"I got you, you little shit," he said to it triumphantly.

The creature let out a high garbled wail as he held it up. It scrabbled at the air with all four legs but was unable to escape his tight grip on it.

"That's enough stealing for you," he said, looking into its dark, beady eyes. He climbed the steps out of the cellar with the creature still clutched tightly in his grip.

He grimaced at the screech that greeted him when he emerged from the cellar door. He thought he preferred the sound of the badger.

"Here's your monster," he said impassively, holding the wriggling beast up before the young woman.

The woman's scream subsided into a whimper and then a confused murmur. The little boy next to her appeared utterly fascinated.

"T-that's all it was?" she asked, incredulous.

"That's all it was," he said.

"W-why didn't you kill it?"

"It isn't a monster. Witchers kill monsters, not badgers."

Her brows creased as she processed the information. Geralt grew impatient.

"I'll just get him out of here. You have a hole in your cellar somewhere where he burrowed in. You need to barricade it at least, perhaps set a few traps. Get a dog instead of a cat. A dog that can hunt."

The woman nodded at him, her eyes wide.

"B-but... you're leaving. I haven't paid you yet."

"Were you planning on paying me with coin?"

She seemed taken aback. She shook her head and averted her eyes.

The badger wriggled in his grasp.

Geralt sighed and grumbled, "Just consider it a favor. Pay it back to the next witcher you meet."

She nodded to him and he stalked out the door with the creature writhing in his grasp. The crowds parted as he continued towards the gates of the city. He wasn't sure if they were just frightened of badgers or if it was the look on his face. He was sure he couldn't have looked particularly friendly considering how pissed he was about the entire pointless ordeal.

He finally made it to the gate and called for the gatekeeper to open it. He stalked out several yards and with a heavy swing tossed the wriggling creature into the woods beyond. He waited a second to see it scurrying off away from the city, then turned and walked back through the gates.

He grumbled to himself.

"No monsters... no payment. What a waste of time. He'll probably be back in her cellar by morning, too. Nobody ever listens to me."

He thought he should have killed the beast and left the body for her to clean up. But he still wasn't sure if he could have accepted whatever "payment" she'd been planning to offer him. He wondered if it was his own business practices or that of other witchers that had left women with the impression that certain favors were sufficient payment for their work. He idly wondered if he should feel bad about denying the woman the pleasure of compensating him for the task he'd just carried out. He didn't think so.

* * *

It was just growing dark when he made it back to the inn. He pulled off his cloak and pushed open the door to their room.

The bed was empty.

He tried to remember if he'd seen Solona in the tavern below. He hadn't. He would have noticed.

He stepped into the room, a feeling of dread seeping into him. He turned his head and saw Lusa's dark shape lying motionless on the floor inside the door. The kitchen girl was gone.

Solona wouldn't have left without the dog. Lusa wouldn't have been sleeping if she was gone, either. He'd either be with her, or he'd be tearing throats out trying to get to her. Or he'd be unconscious.

He felt a chill wash over him. The images from the dream two weeks prior hit him hard. Had he lost her?

No... he couldn't believe that. She couldn't have gone far in the time he'd been away. She'd been delirious frequently lately. She must have just wandered off. She must have accidentally put her dog to sleep. He couldn't imagine another scenario. He wouldn't let himself imagine another scenario.

He cast a quick Heliotrop sign on Lusa and the dog whined softly before sitting up and licking him squarely on his face.

"Where is she, boy?" he asked, laying his hand on the dog's head in mutual comfort.

The dog whined again then left him to sniff around the room. He lingered for a moment on Solona's pack and whined again. Geralt stepped over to look and found nothing missing besides the grimoire. That was odd. Maybe she'd just taken it somewhere to read?

"Good boy," he said to Lusa distractedly. Geralt thought the dog looked genuinely chagrined about the situation. Like he would be blamed somehow.

"We'll find her. She can't have gone far." At least he hoped she hadn't.


	31. Poking the Wound

Geralt attempted to quell a combination of anger and panic as he shoved through the door to the kitchen. Lusa followed closely on his heels amidst a flurry of protests from the innkeeper. He found the kitchen girl back at her post slicing potatoes.

"Where is she." His voice was low and even, focused intently on the girl, but the intensity in his eyes and his brusque stride caught the attention of everyone in the kitchen.

The girl jumped, startled by his sudden presence so close to her. The knife missed the potato and sliced through the tip of her finger instead. The girl yelped and blinked rapidly as she watched the blood well up from her fingertip. Geralt cursed and grabbed a nearby rag and flung it at her. She flinched and wrapped her bleeding finger in it, tears forming in her eyes.

"Where is she. Where is Gwynrhena," he repeated, his volume rising a couple decibels. He vaguely registered that it was the first time he'd ever used that name for her. "I asked you to watch her and now she's missing."

The girl was still blinking at him in confusion. "Th-they came and said you wanted her cared for. A-at the hospital. Th-they took her."

The thin control he had on his temper began to evaporate. He was livid, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, he was on the verge of grabbing her and shaking her now. Who had said this? Who had taken her?

He gritted his teeth. "I said nothing to you about letting her get taken away. Who were these people who took her?"

The girl was visibly trembling in fear, but he was oblivious to the effect he was having on her. She staggered back a step from him. He was unsympathetic, advancing on her again.

Lusa growled next to him and the girl flinched backwards further. Her wide eyes and tear-streaked cheeks finally registered and he realized he had been looming over her menacingly. He was on a roll today, scaring young boys and girls both. He backed off a step and took a deep breath, forcing himself to cool down.

"Lusa, be still," he said to the dog, who gave him a skeptical look but obeyed. He took a deep breath.

"Please," he sighed in desperation, forcing himself to try a different approach. "Whoever took her means her harm. They didn't come with my blessing. If you care about her, you'll tell me everything you can remember about them."

The girl blinked at him, evidently registering his distress finally and giving him a look of shock that turned quickly to dismay.

"Oh no! Is Gwynrhena in danger?" Her voice was shaky and her lower lip began to quiver. Her face scrunched up like she was about to begin a more productive bout of waterworks

He struggled to remain patient.

"Yes. Will you tell me or not?" he asked in a low, even tone that still carried an obvious hint of anger.

She took a deep breath and nodded. She spoke quietly, so quietly he could barely hear her.

"There were two of them... a man and a woman. They were priest-like... dressed in church garb, I mean. Like the nuns at St. Lebioda's hospital. Th-that's why... I thought she was ill, and..."

"What did they look like? Did you see their faces?"

She nodded, twisting the corner of the dish rag between the fingers of her uninjured hand.

"The lady was pretty, with yellow hair and blue eyes. The man was... large and bearded... but he seemed kindly... in his eyes." She paused and pointed at Lusa. "The beast seemed to get upset at them. I was afraid he'd hurt them, but the woman said some words and he went to sleep."

She shrugged her shoulders and gazed at him, an abashed expression still clear on her face.

One of his worst fears for this journey was realized and his mind swam trying to grasp at a solution. Solona had been taken. Not wandered off somewhere. Whoever had done it had taken the grimoire, too, which only added to his worry.

"Is that all you can remember?" he asked.

She looked at her shoes nervously and nodded. Geralt sighed in resignation.

As he was turning away, he heard her say with timid earnesty, "I hope milady will be alright... I-I'm truly sorry, sir. And I know some folks don't believe it's really her, but I do. After hearing the words she said while she slept, I have no doubt."

He turned back quickly and gripped her tightly around her upper arms. Her eyes grew wide and fearful at his expression.

"What words? Tell me what she said." He shook her slightly.

She stuttered out her reply. "O-only words about the winter and... th-the w-white flame from the old prophecy. And she said something about some inter-loper." Her tongue stumbled over the word as though it were unfamiliar to her, but he remembered it.

He released her with a terse nod and turned to leave. Someone... a sorceress most likely... had taken Solona. This meant one of the current regents or monarchs was looking for a pawn to leverage for power and had finally heard of her and discovered her location, sending a sorceress to acquire her for bargaining.

He hated this. He should never have left her, especially considering her precarious state. She'd never have been taken if she were in a condition to defend herself. And if it were a sorceress that had taken her, she could be anywhere. Where the hell did he start?

On the doorstep of the inn, he turned to Lusa. "Let me know if you smell anything familiar, boy." Lusa whoofed softly in reply and trotted ahead of him sniffing at the air and the ground.

He felt utterly lost. He had no idea where to go first. They might keep her in the city for a time, or they might have instantly spirited her away somewhere. He had no way of knowing. He followed Lusa down dark snow-covered alleys for an hour and felt more and more agitated at his impotence as they continued to come up empty. He found himself outside the hospital finally. He was certain she wouldn't be there, but it would be foolish not to check.

His questions and searches bore no more fruit there than Lusa's snuffling through the snow had so far. The only thing he discovered was that there were no attendants who fit the descriptions the girl had given him. He wasn't surprised.

He pulled out the poster he still had of her and thought about showing it in the taverns and whorehouses but knew it would be a waste of time. Citizens were hesitant enough to talk to him, much less submit to an inquisition. And only a very inept kidnapper would be so blatant about allowing her to be seen. He stood gazing at the elaborate sketch of her and couldn't help but smile. He was thankful that the posters had put her in a positive light at least, even if they were gross exaggerations.

So it was back to snuffling through the streets hoping the dog could pick up her scent. It was near midnight when he finally paused to rest. He slumped down against a low rock wall outside the manor of some random noble. Snow was falling more heavily now, sticking thickly to his cloak and boots. The tall oil lamps that were lit on the street cast an eerie glow through the snowfall around him. Lusa leaned his bulky weight against him and whined, shoving his large head into Geralt's lap for comfort. He idly stroked the beast's ears.

He felt as anxious as the dog but his anxiety was overshadowed by anger – at himself for leaving her alone, and moreso at whoever had taken her. He had to find her. And he had to fucking kill the person responsible.

He stalked through the streets for hours more with no results and finally had to admit to himself he'd be no use if he were exhausted while he continued the search. His only consolation was that he was fairly certain she'd been abducted for the purpose of ransoming and that meant they wouldn't kill her. He reluctantly trudged back to the inn, Lusa whining softly beside him as they went.

"We'll find her. If it kills us" he said to the dog.

When they reached the inn again, he tumbled into bed and fell into a fitful sleep hoping a new day would illuminate some answers for him.

* * *

The chill air seeped into Solona's bones and she shivered violently, her body's involuntary reaction pulling her out of her dreams. She was grateful for the respite at first but grew alarmed quickly when the sense of unfamiliar surroundings became apparent. She opened her heavy eyelids and looked around. It was dark and cold. She could see light seeping from beneath a closed door some yards away from her. She shifted her position and realized she was bound to a chair. She looked down and could see the heavy ropes tying her forearms to the arms of the chair, and her ankles to its legs.

She tried to speak, her voice coming out in a hoarse whisper.

"Geralt? Lusa?" Her throat was dry and her tongue thick in her mouth. There was no response to her call. The only sound that reached her ears besides her own voice was the murmur of voices outside the door, but she couldn't make out the words. Shortly the voices disappeared along with the light and she was left in darkness.

Her last memory was of Geralt's voice in her ear, telling her they would be inside soon. She couldn't remember anything else besides the incessant visions of what the worlds could expect if they failed to carry out the ritual.

Not only her own, but Geralt's world and an entire other world depended on them, especially if this abnormal winter were any indication. She recalled the piles of dead they'd seen outside the villages they'd passed. It was too cold to dig graves and wood was too scarce to build pyres for them. They'd have to wait until spring to properly see their loved ones committed to their versions of the afterlife. In the meantime the piles of dead, frozen bodies would continue to grow. But it was nothing compared to what she'd seen in her visions.

She just hoped Geralt would be able to find her, wherever she was now. She had no recollection of being taken. All she knew was that she was tied to a chair in a cold, dark room. She reached out her mind to find Geralt but felt nothing but dark haze.

She was still tired and cold from the journey. Her limbs ached. She was far too weak to even attempt a spell. And her eyes didn't seem to want to work. Though there was scant light in the room, she should still be able to see clearly. Everything was blurry and her vision wavered, making her nauseous. Had she been drugged?

She found it difficult to focus enough to maintain consciousness and drifted off again, finding warmth in the visions of her homeworld.

* * *

_She felt her skin prickle from the summer heat beneath the lightweight fabric of her dress, but she didn't care. She was still tingling in other places from the late afternoon excursion she'd shared with Garrett._

_They'd barely spoken for days, stuck in some silly argument about who was better at fighting with staves. He was always better at swords, she didn't dispute that. They both knew she was better at staves but he'd challenged her anyway and lost, then proceeded to give her the evil eye for the next few days. He was never such a sore loser when Carver beat him, but then she suspected when Carver won it was because Garrett let him._

_Today he'd apologized. He admitted, much to her delight, that she was superior at staff fighting than he was, and that he'd stick to swords from now on. Once they'd made it to their sanctuary by the lake he had proceeded to impress on her how skilled he was with his 'sword'. The memory made her smile to herself and warmth tingled between her thighs again._

_The sun was drifting behind the hills that bordered the lake as they made their way back to the house. They hadn't made it far from the lake when she felt his hand grip hers tightly and pull her to a stop. Her blood rushed to her head as he pulled her into his broad chest and bent his head to kiss her. She sank into him, moaning softly against his lips. She hated it when they fought, but making up was almost worth it._

" _Sol," he said in his deep voice as he pulled back from the kiss. She could still remember when his voice had cracked endearingly when he would say her name. That was only a couple years past, but seemed like an eternity._

_She smiled up at him. "What, Garrett?" Her arms wrapped around him and held him close. She was still warm and glowing from their tryst._

_His eyes seemed troubled and she grew immediately serious in response. "What is it?"_

" _There have been templars lurking about the village more and more lately." He shook his head slowly. "I'm worried... this isn't good."_

_She nodded. "I've seen them. But we haven't done anything to draw attention. Why would they look for us?"_

_He pulled his arms away from her and gripped her hand in his, drawing her away from the path to sit at the base of a large shady tree they both enjoyed laying beneath on sunny days. The dwindling sunlight cast long shadows on the sun-scorched grass beneath them._

_He was clearly distressed but she wasn't sure how she could ease his worries. Templars were a constant threat, she knew. There would be nothing they could do if they were found out. She and Garrett and Bethany would all be carted off to the Circle like slaves. It would be horrible._

_He clenched his eyes shut and said, "I wish dad was still alive. He was the one keeping them away, you know."_

_She gave him a perplexed look._

_Garrett nodded. "Dad told me once that he had a mutual understanding with Ferelden's Knight-Commander. He said..." he paused for a moment and looked at her, hesitating to continue. After a moment he said, "No... he didn't want me to tell anyone."_

_She glared at him, exasperated. "Tell anyone what? If it's to do with templars I have every right to know. They're a threat to all of us, Garrett."_

_He tensed briefly, then took a deep breath and raked his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing on end. He looked at her and breathed out harshly through his nose._

" _You're right. You need to know... for a couple reasons, but he didn't want Mama or the twins to know, at least not until the twins were much older." He gave her a hard look and she raised her eyebrows, peering at him with an exaggeratedly inquisitive expression._

_He rolled his eyes at her and spoke again. "He had a templar friend in Kirkwall who was close with Ferelden's Knight-Commander. That's why he and Mama decided to come here."_

_He shrugged and toyed with a small piece of wood, his face lost in memory. "Dad told me the man helped them leave Kirkwall when they married. He helped them come to Ferelden. He also said he helped your father get you out and send you to us. It's for his safety Dad never wanted us to talk about him. For a templar to be that sympathetic to mages... it would mean exile at best..." His expression grew broody and he didn't continue the thought._

_He took a deep breath a moment later and said in halting syllables, "But he told me... he told me if anything should... happen to him, that I needed to be vigilant. The Knight-Commander wouldn't be able to look the other way forever."_

_Solona was shocked speechless. It hurt a little to think that had her uncle had never shared these details with her, but she supposed she understood. But it frightened her to think that there might be a real possibility of the templars coming for them now._

_Garrett sighed and with a brief burst of magic turned the small piece of wood he held into a block of brittle ice, then crushed it into pieces letting the frozen splinters fall to the ground._

" _Dad would know what to do. He always knew what to do." He banged his head back against the tree trunk in frustration._

" _Well, he's not here. We can figure this out on our own. We have to," she said._

_Garrett laughed sardonically. "I can't help but think about what he said before he died. Do you remember?"_

_She stared up at the sky for a moment, watching clouds drift by ablaze with the orange glow of sunset. Finally she said, "He said we'd need to find our own paths. He said we'd know the right path when it was presented to us. Then he babbled on about dragons and witches and... Qunari? Of all things? It made no sense whatsoever."_

_He barked out a harsh laugh then stared at the ground for a moment, picking at the blades of grass before him. "I never thought dad was the kind to wax prophetic but that's what it sounded like he was doing..."_

_She laughed quietly and nodded._

_"Maybe this was what he meant... about finding our own paths," he said._

_Her emotions churned, the turmoil inside her a sharp contrast to the warm, peaceful dusk settling around them._

" _Maybe it is," she replied._

* * *

Some time later, large hands shook her awake. She opened her eyes in a daze and looked up into a man's face that could generously be described as unsavory. She saw large red-rimmed eyes and a downturned mouth surrounded by a thick black beard. His lips were drawn together in a tight line. He smelled nice, at least, which was at odds with his appearance. He had a faintly floral scent lingering on him that she thought she recognized but couldn't easily place.

"You need to eat, milady," he said, his voice deep and almost reverent.

She looked down at the plate he held in his hand, her vision swimming. The smell of roasted meat hit her nostrils and her stomach rumbled greedily.

"Do you plan on feeding me by hand, then?" she slurred, attempting to look into his eyes, then down at the ropes that bound her wrists. Her vision wavered. She blinked and shook her head, trying to clear it. She'd never felt this sluggish after a vision. She had to assume they'd drugged her.

He frowned and nodded, then pulled a chair over and sat down opposite her. She watched, her vision still wavering as he perched the plate on his lap. She fixated minutely on his movements as he began delicately carving the meat into bite-sized pieces, then the vegetables. His hands were calloused, but deft; the knife he used was a little dull, requiring extra pressure to cut. The meat had been cooked rare and reddish juices seeped out of it when he cut it. Her stomach growled loudly as she watched him.

He stopped cutting her food and laid down the knife and fork.

"Do you want to drink first?" he asked hesitantly, leaning down and picking something up from beside his chair, then holding up a wineskin before her.

Who was this man? He can't have been her captor if he was being so oddly kind to her. She had the urge to mouth off to him, but her mouth didn't seem to want to work properly.

He seemed to interpret her frustration and his expression softened. He set the wineskin down again and bowed his head.

"It's an honor for me, Gwynrhena, if you must know," he said in a whisper, then glanced at the door with a wary expression.

She was too confused with the effects of the drugs to properly contemplate his actions. She blinked at him. If he believed she was the White Queen, why the hell was she tied up?

She struggled to gain control of her tongue and managed to blurt out, "You're not my kidnapper are you?"

He hesitated, then said, "No, milady."

He seemed unwilling to say more.

"You won't tell me who is, will you."

He simply shook his head and held up a forkful of food to her.

It smelled so good she didn't resist and opened her mouth, letting him place it on her tongue. She chewed and closed her eyes silently in appreciation. It tasted so good. Her hunger overcame her curiosity and she let him feed her for a time, savoring the taste of the hot food on her tongue. It was a strong contrast to the quality of fare she and Geralt had endured on the road the past two weeks.

Her captor held up the wine flask again after she swallowed a recent bite. She nodded and he tilted it over her mouth. Sweet wine spilled between her lips and her tastebuds tingled at the sensation. Oh that was good. She looked back at the man, her eyes bright. She had trouble consolidating images and blinked a few times trying to size him up. He seemed less ominous than when he'd entered the room. He was still huge but his eyes were attentive. He held up another forkful of food, with an inquisitive look.

She shook her head. "I'm full, but thank you."

"More drink?" he asked. She nodded and he tilted the skin over her mouth again.

"What's your name?" she managed to force out after swallowing the wine.

The man hesitated, then said in his low, deep voice, "Rafe."

She flinched back slightly when he lifted up a hand to catch a drop of wine that had escaped her mouth. His touch was gentle as his calloused thumb brushed across her lips. She stared at him warily but he averted his eyes when they met hers briefly, as if in deference.

"Rafe," she repeated. She wanted to say more but her mind was growing dim. She could sense the voices clamoring for attention again and cursed inwardly.

She wanted him to let her go. She thought she could convince him to if she could only speak, but her tongue didn't want to work for some reason and her mind was growing increasingly uncooperative.

She was a fool. They'd probably put more drugs in the wine to keep her docile, but she'd been so thirsty. She had a brief moment of panic in which she wondered whether it was simply her own mind rebelling against her, the visions themselves keeping her from maintaining consciousness. She couldn't decide which would be worse.

"Milady, don't fret. The witchman's spell will wear off soon and we can let you out. It'll be alright."

She felt a heavy, warm hand rest atop hers for a second in a comforting gesture. Then he picked up the plate and flask of wine and left the room quietly.

She heard the bolt in the door slide into place behind him. She tried to make sense of his words but now that she was in darkness again the sounds of the voices came back with renewed vigor in her mind, threatening to pull her back into another vision of the past or the future.

She blinked her eyes in frustration trying to resist.  _Not tonight. I need to be sane tonight, dammit. Just leave me fucking be!_ She floundered ineffectually for a moment, but felt herself being pulled inexorably into their dreams again.

* * *

_The inevitable was finally happening. The templars loomed on horseback outside the door. Six of them eyeing them all as though they were abominations. They dismounted and a pair of them strode through the door after being invited in, leaving the others on guard outside. Their gracious manners were at odds with the palpable tension at their presence._

_Leandra was polite, even going so far as to offer them tea. But the templars didn't want to waste time. This was no social call for them and they weren't about to pretend it was. They were here for one reason._

_She looked at Garrett who gazed back at her with a brief, agonized expression that flickered only for a split second before disappearing behind a calm facade. She saw the fingers of his hand clench and knew he was itching to have his sword gripped in it or to fling some spell at the men who were presently invading their home. She was relieved he restrained himself._

" _Sers, our home is yours. Please let us know how we can be of assistance," he said with far more politeness than she'd ever heard from him._

_The lead templar pulled off his helmet to reveal a greying countenance and turned his serious gaze back to Garrett. "There have been rumours in the village. Suspicious behavior of the type apostates are prone to engage in."_

_Garrett blinked at him with surprise. "Behavior from whom, good sers? If there are apostates about, we'd like nothing more than to see them brought to justice."_

_Solona almost smiled. He was so very convincing but she knew he was secretly mocking them. She watched the templars, but their leader seemed to see through Garrett's words._

" _Are there apostates in this house? Speak honestly. We have ways to find you out, boy. If you give up without a fight it will go much easier than if you resist."_

_She watched as Garrett's eyes narrowed and his jaw muscles twitched. She saw the other templars eyeing Bethany and Carver who were both putting up a brave front but she could tell they were terrified._

" _There are no apostates here," he forced through clenched teeth._

_She caught an almost imperceptible flicker of magic along the palm of Garrett's hand where it was held at his side, and the two templars immediately stiffened as though they were attuned to it. The second templar took half a step towards them and began to draw his sword._

_It was at that moment when she knew what had to be done. This was her path. She set her jaw and stepped forward resolutely._

" _It's me you want," she said softly. She bowed her head in submission, letting sparks of harmless magic flicker across her fingertips, hoping it would disguise the source of the magic they'd detected. She had to be convincing. She knew Garrett and Carver could easily be overlooked as young fighters, and Bethany was too sweet and timid to ever seem a threat. If they would believe anyone in this house was a mage, it would be her with her red hair and looks that in no way resembled her cousins._

" _No!" Garrett said sharply, his voice a strangled croak. He stared at her with a desperate expression. "No, Solona. I… I can't lose you."_

_One of the templars was coming towards her with leather bindings. The leader waved him back and looked at her appraisingly. She was struck by the calculated look in his eyes and almost thought she saw admiration lingering there beneath it. She heard him whisper almost inaudibly to her, "Brave girl." He glanced at Garrett and the others and said, "Say your goodbyes."_

_She turned to look at Garrett and felt hot tears well up in the corners of her eyes at his panicked expression. She took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, but heard her voice catch when she said, "You know I have to, Garrett."_

_He gave her a pained look before turning his head and staring fixedly at some point outside the window. The muscles of his jaw clenched rhythmically. She watched as he closed his eyes tightly and opened them again and knew he understood that she was right. She had to let them take her so they would leave the others alone. He had to stay to keep the others safe._

_Garrett looked back at her and seemed to read the sadness in her eyes. He stepped close and reached a large hand up to cup her cheek. He pressed his lips to hers, then looked into her eyes._

" _Did I ever tell you that you're the bravest girl I know?" he asked in a whisper._

_She couldn't help but laugh, though it came out a bit weakly. "And how many girls do you really know?"_

" _None quite so well as you." His expression was anguished and she watched his throat work as he tried to swallow his emotions._

" _I'll always remember you. Always," she said softly. She felt his hand shift to her neck and his fingertips dig into her flesh. He pulled her close and whispered against her ear, "I will never forget you. Never."_

_He embraced her tightly and she was only half aware of the sound of a soft sob from somewhere else in the room. She turned to see Bethany clinging to her mother and crying. She went to them and hugged them both. Leandra reached a hand up and gently brushed a wayward curl behind her ear and gave her a gentle, sad smile._

" _Malcolm was always so proud of you. It's been a pleasure to watch you grow into such an amazing young woman."_

_Her younger cousin dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve, then flung herself at Solona._

" _Oh, Sol! I'll miss you. I wish you didn't have to go!"_

_Solona hugged her tight and said, "It's for the best. Take care of the boys, Beth. You're the smart one now – make sure they don't do anything stupid, okay?"_

_Beth stepped back with a nod and made a valiant effort to put a smile on her face._

_Carver was standing to the side with a grim expression, his eyes reddened from rubbing his tears away. When she turned to him he gave her a half-hearted smile and she could see his lower lip quivering. She pulled him into a tight embrace, surprised at his strength when he crushed her to him. When had he gotten so big? He was as big as Garrett now, and stronger it seemed. She thought she might have bruises after this hug._

" _Take care of your sister and Aunt Leandra, okay?" She only felt him nod as she pulled away. He sniffed and wiped his eyes again. She struggled to hold her own tears at bay._

_Finally she turned and walked to the templars. She nodded to them._

" _I'm ready," she said in a shaky voice._

_Their grey-haired leader eyed her cousins once more before gripping her by the arm and leading her towards the templar behind him who was prepared with her bindings. She wondered if the older man was the Knight-Commander her uncle had known, which might explain how kind he seemed to be. The other man didn't seem so friendly, however, and leered at her suggestively as he bound her wrists._

" _We've found the apostate," the leader announced to the other templars as he pushed her out the door. "Let's get her back to the Circle."_

_She was set astride a horse. One of the other templars mounted behind her and seemed hesitant to even touch her._

_She couldn't help but look back at her cousins once they started moving away. She quenched a sob that she felt rising up from her gut as she saw all their stricken faces watching her leave._

_Garrett was standing tall beside his mother and the twins. His hands were clutched tightly in Leandra's and Bethany's. Carver stood bravely beside his mother. Garrett's dark hair stood on end the way it did when he'd run his fingers through it too many times in agitation over something. His expression was stoic, but she could see the anguish in his eyes._

_I'll remember you always, she thought to herself. As they rode away she finally felt the tears begin trailing hotly down her cheeks._

* * *

Geralt jerked awake and stared into the darkness above him. He recalled vividly the images from the dream.  _Her_  dream. She can't have gone far if they were still sharing dreams, could she? He was suddenly convinced she must still be in the city.

He stood quickly and shoved at Lusa gently with the toe of his boot.

"Get up lazybones, we're going to break into someone's house today."

The dog stood excitedly and looked at him with his head cocked to one side. Geralt chuckled softly at the beast's expression.

He strapped on his swords, stowed some food in a pouch and hung his waterskin to his belt, then threw his cloak over his shoulders and went out the door.

Another thought had occurred to him as he'd been drifting off into an exhausted sleep a few hours earlier. He needed a  _sorceress_  to help find another sorceress. Triss was too far away. He would need a telecommunicator to contact her. But he knew Yennefer's house wasn't far from this inn. And Yennefer was the only sorceress he knew in this city who had a telecommunicator.

He grimaced at the thought of asking Yennefer for help. He hadn't exactly been ecstatic during their reunion and she had obviously left in a poor frame of mind. He'd prefer to get Triss here first if it were possible. With any luck, Yennefer was still in Ban Glean. He could sneak into her house and use the mirror to contact Triss and ask for her help.

But if Yennefer had teleported home already... He could just imagine stumbling through her house and finding her indisposed in some fashion. That would be the best case. Worst case she would find him first and... he had no idea what she'd do. Stab him with a fire poker? Turn him into a bug, then squash him? He sighed. He needed to be cautious at least. If she  _was_  there he just hoped he could apologize to her convincingly enough to enlist her help. He began rehearsing conversations in his head. He needed to have something to say to her that would convince her unequivocally to help him find Solona.

"Yennefer, I'm sorry I was a shithead to you in Ban Glean, but I need your help to find my witcher lover or the world's going to end."

He glanced at Lusa. "Do you think that will convince her?" Lusa snorted and shook his head, slinging slobber onto the snowy cobbles beneath him. Geralt laughed mirthlessly and said, "No... me neither."

He hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Half an hour later Geralt stood silent at the end of the snow-covered street Yennefer's house sat on. He gazed down the street for a moment, hesitant to approach any closer. The house was one of the smaller dwellings in a more affluent district of Vengerberg, but one of the more notable ones.

It was a narrow, three-story structure built of white stone with a steeply sloping black slate roof and black shutters. It was still very well kept and pretty on the outside, as he remembered it being when he had lived there with her. She'd always insisted on having blooming lilacs year-round, even if it required magic to make it happen. True to form, there were pure white lilacs in full bloom bursting through the black wrought-iron fences that surrounded the three-story townhouse. From a distance the bushes almost looked like huge snowdrifts had been piled upside-down along the fenceline.

The weather had cleared and dawn was breaking with a beautiful rosy glow that Geralt barely even noticed as he stared at the house. There was no sign anyone was home, but it was dawn and Yennefer, ever the night owl, would have been sound asleep at this hour with curtains drawn. If she were even home.

Geralt sighed and glanced down at the big black dog beside him. Lusa looked back and snorted as if to say "well, what are you waiting for?"

Geralt shrugged and shook his head. He began to resolutely walk towards Yennefer's house.

His booted feet crunched through the snow and he felt a little too attuned to the sounds around him. The city was waking up with the dawn, and its all too familiar noises gave him an odd feeling.

He'd walked this path so many times, he felt like he was just coming home after a night hunting a contract, or even just out drinking. On those past mornings he remembered looking forward to sliding into bed next to her warm body and making love in the dim light of morning. Afterward they would fall asleep in each other's arms and not wake again until Noon. He would try to seduce her again, but she would grow impatient and rise, insistent that she had some pressing business to attend to that she would never elaborate on, then she would abruptly leave him to his own devices.

"Frustrating harpy," he cursed softly to himself, but there was no real venom in his words. With each step closer to her door he felt increasingly haunted by memories of her, the good and bad ones so closely intertwined he had a hard time distinguishing them.

Before he knew it his feet had carried him of their own accord onto her doorstep. He watched with a feeling of odd detachment as his hand reached for the door latch as though he still lived there. He opened the door and walked inside.


End file.
